Ancra Mortis
by Mattwho81
Summary: The Storm Heralds encounter old friends and new enemies when they take on an Ork threat in the depths of space, in this battle courage and honour may not be enough to survive. This story is a sequel to my previous story Umbram Ignis.
1. Chapter 1

**Ancra Mortis: Chapter 1**

 **994.M41**

In deep space the stars do not twinkle, they blaze fiercely and unwaveringly unencumbered by clouds or wind, they blaze eternally upon all equally and today they shone upon a lonely moon. This moon was not beautiful like the magnificent desolation of Luna nor was it wrapped in a thick blanket of atmosphere such as Titan boasted. This moon was an ugly lump in the void, with a thin poisonous atmosphere that was not quite thick enough to support aircraft, it was neither one thing or another but it produced gravity and that was enough.

In orbit around the dark side of the moon was an ogre, the word ship did not quite do it justice for it was massive, a veritable city torn from the dirt and set to float among the stars. Its spine was festooned with towers, cathedrals, sensor arrays and missile tubes while its bow was a cavernous Thunderhawk bay. Meanwhile its flanks were plated with gigantic slabs of armour pocked with enormous weapon barrels that could only be supported by a Battle-Barge of the Adeptus Astartes. The vessel was running quietly in low orbit but illuminated upon its bow was the spiral inside a starburst that was the icon of the Storm Heralds Space Marines and the engraved name Light of Terra.

Standing upon the Battle-Barge's bridge was a space marine, he was a decorated officer with chains of rank upon his breast, a long red cloak and an Iron halo shaped like a double-headed eagle. His face was scarred and one eye had been replaced with an augmetic that shone a fierce red while at his hip hung a legendary relic blade: The Sword of Thiel. His name was Toran and he was a Captain of the Storm Heralds. Toran was stood upon the command dais and looked over the long cathedral-like interior of the bridge, watching the crew of mortal serfs working over consoles and servitors mindlessly chattering away to themselves. It was a sight of productive industry, a testament to discipline and excellent training, it should have made any man proud but Toran was unsettled.

He sighed and turned around to see five Space Marines of his command squad standing behind him with helms off as they waited for his orders, he looked them over and noted their scars and honours then said, "How long has it been?"

Brother Persion stood in armour with expanded comms- gear and said, "We've been sitting here for three days."

Brother Novak was bedecked in the laurels of a Company Champion and declared, "Three days sat waiting for the Imperial Navy to show up, that is a monumental waste of the Emperor's time!"

Brother Bylan's throat was a mass of augmetics and his voice wheezed as he droned, "+Three days is not unusual when one considers the effect Warp travel has on time itself, they may only be delayed+"

Brother Jediah had a predatory glint in his eye as he spat, "We don't need their sort, I say we attack without them, its only Orks after all."

He was rebuked by the looming form of Brother Furion in his brutal Mark III armour, "Do not underestimate the Greenskins, they have invaded Glaeba in significant numbers and we will need a full Imperial task force to meet this threat. We may be facing a full Waaagh, we need all our strength to meet it."

Novak shook his head and said, "Glaeba again, what is it with this world, we always seem to be coming back here."

Persion grimaced and said, "We are too close to the Serrati Stellas, the worst knot of gravitic anomalies and Warp squalls for a thousand light years in any direction. That place produces pirates and Orks like a corpse spawns maggots. No matter how many patrols we make they just keep breeding faster than we can shoot them."

Novak protested, "This is a colossal distraction, we should be fighting Tyranids with the rest of the Chapter, not putting down Greenskins!"

Furion admonished him by saying, "We fight the Emperor's wars where ordered, if we ignore this threat then the Orks will rampage over a dozen worlds while Imperial defences are distracted."

Toran agreed, "We will join with the Imperial Navy and drive these Orks out, remember we have the whole of Fourth Company on board, they will make short work of this invasion."

"Speaking of which…" stated Persion looking over Toran's shoulder.

The Captain turned about and saw three more Astartes striding towards him, all looking determined and proud. The first was Captain Jossat of Fourth Company, he was an aggressive and heavily scarred warrior who was filled with a vital energy and drive that made it seem like he always wanted to be charging into war. Toran had fought with him before and found him mindless and rash but that was before he had been made a Captain himself. Now he the grasped the need for a leader to be driven and ambitious, to make his men thirst for victory. It would have been an admirable trait but sadly Jossat was also a firm believer in the Emperor's divinity and that the Storm Heralds should stand alone, he had objected most strongly to being sent to fight alongside other Imperial forces.

The second Marine was Chaplain Wrethan whose armour was half battle-plate and half medical exoskeleton; he had been grievously wounded little less than a year before and still had not fully recovered. It spoke volumes about the extent of his wounds that he, a Space Marine, had not recovered yet but given that the sawbones had proclaimed that he would never walk again he was making remarkable progress. The last Marine was Apothecary Memnos, who served as the medicae of Toran's Demi-Company, he was also here to make sure Wrethan didn't try to charge into combat.

The three of them approached the command Dais and strode up the steps as Jossat made the sign of the Aquilla and said, "Captain Toran, anything to report?"

Toran saluted back and said to the senior officer, "Nothing to report, there is no sign of the Navy yet."

"Damn them" growled Wrethan, "We should be fighting Tyranids right now, not waiting for lollygaggers!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Toran saw Novak opening his mouth to speak but Furion swiftly kicked his greave with the side of an armoured heel and the Champion shut it again hurriedly. Toran stated, "We have three Gladiator frigates from Luctator Squadron sweeping the perimeter, they will alert us the second they detect anything."

Jossat stated, "Good, the sooner we eradicate these Orks and get back to the Tyranid front the better."

Toran caught the implication and said, "Is it as bad as we hear?"

Jossat's face fell and his brave façade dropped for a moment as he said, "Worse… every day brings a new defeat and the few victories we can claim come at too high a price, the Tyranids are advancing and we cannot stop them."

Memnos spoke up to say, "The casualty reports are staggering, the Chapter is being bled white and with our Fortress-Monastery in ruins, we cannot replace our losses fast enough."

Wrethan said, "Which is why it is vital we burn out this Greenskin infestation fast and get back to the real war, even if it means working with the Navy." That statement held the ring of uncomfortable truth for many Storm Heralds wanted to break free from Terra's rule, but as the forty-first Millennium drew to a close enemies surrounded mankind on all sides. The defenders of humanity were beset as never before and their only chance to survive was to work together, no matter how much they disliked it.

Jossat said "The situation is uncomfortable but it is what it is, when the Navy arrives will leave the cover of this moon and advance on Glaeba in force. First we break the Greenskin's blockade in orbit and then we sweep the planet clean. The fourth company will be the tip of the spear, Captain Toran you will remain in command the Light of Terra and provide orbital support." Toran heard his command squad draw in breaths at the thought of being left to guard the Battle-Barge but before they could speak he declared, "We will do whatever is required, my Sergeants, Priyar, Zeax, Mylos and Lorath stand ready with their squads to ensure our orbital supremacy."

"Excellent" declared Jossat "As the Holy Codex says, Always Seek Ye Secure The Highest Ground, There Is No Higher Ground Than High Orbit."

Toran was about to inquire about the planned ground campaign but their conversation was interrupted as a serf raised an alert from the sensorium, Toran waved Persion to check it out and the communication specialist hurried over. He bent over the consoles and declared, "Luctator squadron have picked up energy signatures, a large mass of signals is headed our way!"

Captain Jossat asked, "Is it the Navy?"

"Stand by," Persion said as he peered at the readouts then after a moment declared, "We have detected Imperial recognition codes, running authentication checks now… We have confirmation, it is the Navy."

"Finally" growled Chaplain Wrethan, "Do we know what they have sent us?"

Persion said, "Logic Engines are searching for identifications now… we have a score of troop transports, three cruisers and escorts. Machine Spirits have identified them as Triton Squadron consisting of three Firestorm class frigates. One Dauntless class, the Spetsai and one Defiant class light carrier, the Lemnos."

Jossat barked, "Hah, not very subtle of them."

Toran frowned and looked him saying, "I don't follow."

Wrethan said, "All those ships are armed with lances, not the weapons you send to fight Orks but perfect for cutting apart Astartes' ship hulls… they are here for us."

Toran was shocked to hear that and said, "You think they are here to attack us?"

"Nothing so blunt," Memnos said, "This is the Imperial Navy sending us a message: they are as unhappy to be fighting alongside us as we are with them."

Persion interrupted their conversation to say, "Logic Engines have a match on that last cruiser, it's a Lunar class... the Averof."

"The Averof?" said Toran in surprise.

Jossat glanced at him and said, "You know her?"

Toran nodded and said, "Yes, the Navy may not be as hostile as we supposed."

Persion called over, "Vox-signal coming in, it's a request for direct communication."

Toran ordered, "Put it through."

The comms array snarled with static and a long-delay occurred, at this range even vox waves travelling at the speed of light could take a minute or two to travel between ships, using Astropaths was out of the question for anything less than interplanetary communication. Everybody waited patiently for the signal to form properly and then an image of a man appeared on a hololithic pedestal, he was a ship's captain but unusually for an Imperial officer he was not weighed down with gold braiding and jangling medals. A simple white shirt and black trousers with a plain gold sash around his waist sufficed for him and he bore a broad naval cutlass on his hip, chipped and bloodstained from frequent use.

Toran faced the Hololith and a smile tugged at his lip as he said, "Captain Georgios Mandas, what a pleasure to see you again."


	2. Chapter 2

**Ancra Mortis: Chapter 2**

From behind the cover behind the moon the Imperial fleet advanced in formation, the poisonous satellite dwindled to their rear and before them, the fertile world that was Glaeba grew in size. The planet appeared to be a blue-green marble, speckled with clouds and it was hard to believe that it could possibly present any danger yet the tiny specks of Ork warships told a different story. The Imperials were travelling at fantastic speeds yet sill it would be hours before they made contact with the enemy, the sheer distances involved in void travel being utterly incomprehensible to most men. The warships were travelling only a few hundred kilometres apart, in naval terms a tight formation, so that they could support each other's broadsides and concentrate their firepower.

In the heart of the formation plodded the troop transports, like a herd of grox being driven to market. Their puny guns would make little difference to this battle and their thin armour meant they any damage would be catastrophic to the Guardsmen packed onboard, but to the Imperium such men were eminently replaceable and there was no question of them behind left behind. Their numbers would be required planetside the second the Astartes made landfall, so all they could do was hope and pray the Orks would ignore them in favour of the biggest warships.

At the head of the Imperial fleet was the mighty Battle-Barge Light of Terra, she was travelling with gun ports open and torpedoes loaded ready for battle. Such vessels had been the backbone of the Imperium's wars for ten millennia, but it would be a mistake to think that meant she was inviolate. The ship had faced Orks before and still bore deep scars from those encounters, only time would tell who would prove victorious this day.

Standing upon her bridge the Space Marines were watching proceedings with calm detachment, the atmosphere was tense yet they remained unperturbed. It would be hours before the fleet made contact with the enemy and until then there was little point bringing the fleet to high alert, mortals had their limitations and even with the best of wills hours at their posts would leave men fatigued and degraded.

Captain Toran was talking with Captain Mandas via the Hololith pedastal saying, "Despite the delay the Navy has proven a stalwart ally in sending such a large force to our aid."

Mandas snorted at that and said, "You flatter us but I am afraid this task force was not intended for you, I was escorting these troops to the Tyranid front when the call came through. We were diverted at the last minute with whatever we had to hand and told to follow your lead."

Toran asked with a frown, "Then Lord Admiral Dousmanis did not send you directly to aid us?"

Mandas shook his head and said, "If the Admiralty had known the Orks were going to invade then they would have sent a proper blue-blood officer to take over the whole operation, not some jumped up lad from the docks who spent more of his youth hunting rats than in the classroom."

Toran smirked at the man's self-depreciating humour and commented, "I've seen the size of your ship's guns, those dock-rats must have had some pretty large teeth."

Mandas smiled widely and said, "I doubt we will find any rats here, the only vermin out here are Greenskins and you can count upon the Navy to teach them the meaning of a bloody good thrashing."

Toran was heartened to see that the Captain remained as boisterous as ever, a Naval man without blood ties to the high Admiralty needed to be larger than life after all. Toran stated, "I am confident that you shall teach the Orks to fear the wrath of man, speaking of which have your Logic Engines determined the composition of the invasion force?"

Mandas replied, "Hold one moment" as his image stepped out of view.

Beside Toran, Chaplain Wrethan leaned over and said, "You realise the Adeptus Mechanicus ensures we Space Marines receive far superior auspex arrays than the crude gear the Navy is allowed access to?"

Toran nodded and quietly stated, "Yes but it is a courtesy to ask, we need the Navy to stand proudly in the coming battle and defend our flank. They will fight all the harder if we treat them as a valuable asset rather than disposable cannon fodder."

Wrethan smiled and said, "Always thinking ahead aren't you, very well let the mortals have their pride, for the Divine Emperor knows who will really win this battle."

Mandas' image returned to the Hololith and he said, "Auspex sweeps are detecting several capital ships and over twenty escorts, a sizeable force indeed. The Orks aren't trying to hide their presence, in fact they are broadcasting their identities for all to see, one Kroozer is calling itself, Mork's Fist. The other is broadcasting the name, BigHamma but it's the last one that concerns us, it is calling itself Maw a'Gork and its mass signature is equivalent to a Battleship."

Toran declared "That is our primary obstacle, we must punch past it to reach orbit successfully."

Mandas said, "The escort squadrons are requesting permission to probe forwards, they want to engage ahead of the fleet."

Toran saw Chaplain Wrethan turn to look at him and knew he was being tested, he was taking on the role of a fleet master but this was the first time he had commanded a naval engagement of this size and if he was to lead then he must be seen to lead from the start. Toran drew in a breath and said, "No, the Orks excel at head to head engagements and the escorts lack the armour to endure in that kind of fight. The Light of Terra and the Averof will be the tip of our spear, we will keep our heavy prows towards the foe and punch through their lines. The escorts will need to stay behind the larger ships until the fighting becomes close, we will need their guns to keep the Orks from sweeping behind us and gutting the fleet from behind."

Wrethan smiled and Toran felt like he had passed some test as the Chaplain declared, "Excellent, Fourth Company are already in their drop pods and will lead the assault. Captain Toran your orders are to get us to the planet at all costs, then secure orbital supremacy I must bless Captain Jossat and his squads before deployment." Wrethan made the sign of the Aquilla then walked off the bridge, Toran watched him go then turned to the image of Captain Mandas and said, "I look forward to fighting with you again."

Mandas bowed and said with a grin, "I wager a bottle of my ship's finest grog against whatever you Marines drink that the Averof claims more kills than you do."

Toran replied, "Sadly my vows of piety prohibit the vice of gambling."

Mandas inspected the back of his hand and said, "Well if you glory hogs don't think you can keep up with a few Navy boys…"

Toran laughed and said with a smile, "Well now the pride of the Storm Heralds is at stake I have no choice but to accept your wager."

Mandas smiled equally warmly, "Excellent, I hope you have something palatable on board, the Averof is one ornery bitch in a fight. Now if you will excuse me I have a fleet to make ready for war."

With that Mandas' image cut out and the remaining Space Marines were left bemused by his exit, Bylan said, "+If Mandas is commanding a fleet of his own how is he still a mere Captain, surely he has earn enough laurels to be made a Commodore+"

Novak replied candidly, "The answer is that the man was born and raised in the Naval academies of Tectum like a million other junior officers. Without blood ties to Lord Admiral Dousmanis or an ancient name like Ravensburg, Kisher or Kountouriotis no man rises high in the Imperial Navy. Mandas is exceptional and he only to rose to command a Ship of the Line through sheer audacity, skill and an unreasonable amount of luck…"

Novak trailed off as he realised everybody was staring at him and Persion said, "How did you know that?"

Novak cocked his head to the side and said, "I read it in the briefing notes."

Persion's jaw dropped and he said in surprise, "You know how to read?"

Toran was watching the exchange and he saw Novak's lip twitch slightly in amusement, he knew Novak had a flippant attitude but sometimes he suspected that the Champion actively enjoyed playing the fool to tease his squadmates. It was easy to forget that behind that insolent mouth was a working brain and Novak was actually a lot smarter than he let on.

Toran spoke up saying, "That's enough from you lot, to your posts and make ready for battle, I will sound actions in plenty of time to meet the Orks." The command squad saluted and moved off the dais to their various posts around the bridge, the mortal serfs made room for them without rancour, no matter how experienced they were there was no question that the Transhuman Astartes were better qualified.

The next few hours would have crawled by to anyone who was not experienced with void combat, ground warfare had no equivalent for two massive fleets drifting inexorably towards each other, their crew left with nothing to do but wait for the fighting to begin. Toran itched to be doing something, to badger the serfs for updates and reports but knew they would only be distracted by his looking over their shoulder. The best thing he could do right now was stand still and look confident, so the hours slipped by while the Orks grew in the great Hololith display that dominated the bridge.

When the fleets were little more than an hour away from weapons range there was a cry from the Sensorium as Persion stood up to shout, "Aspect change, aspect change, the Orks are lighting their engines and changing vectors. Logic Engines are calculating new heading… the Greenskins are breaking orbit and coming about to face us head-on."

Toran looked at the Hololith and saw the icons of the Greenskins pulling out of the planet's gravity, on a course to meet the Imperials and the time to intercept dropped dramatically. Toran wasted not a moment to call, "Contact all ships and order the fleet to sound action stations. Raise our shields and run out the guns, all stations report combat readiness!"

Serfs started running to and fro as the ship prepared for battle and fresh crewman ran onto the bridge to take up the posts of weary men. The Space Marines watched them hand over and then when they were ready Furion called, "Helm control set."

From another post Persion shouted, "Sensorium is running smoothly, if the Orks so much as sneeze we will see it."

Surrounded by Tech-Priests in the Engineerium section Bylan announced, "+Plasma reactors fully operational, Void shields at maximum and damage control parties are standing by+"

From the gunnery pews Jediah shouted, "Weapons batteries loaded, bombardment cannons primed and targeting cogitators are eager for the fray."

Standing by the ordnance control pulpit Novak declared, "Thunderhawks are fuelled, Torpedoes tubes loaded and Drop Pods primed."

"Excellent" Toran declared launching into a speech, "Make no mistake my comrades today is the day…" His speech was cut off as Persion yelled, " What the hell! One of the Kroozers is emitting a huge energy build up, it's going critical!" Then the Hololith flared red as a massive energy discharge went off right before the Light of Terra's prow, making various consoles shriek in alarm and servitors scream in binary distress.

The artificial gravity field stuttered for a second and the deck rocked in sympathy as if the ship had crested a wave on the ocean, throwing crewmen to the deck. Toran grabbed the bucking rail of the command dais and roared, "Report for Throne's sake, what was that?!"

Persion was gripping onto a console and yelled, "Massive energy discharge just off the bow, if it had been any closer it would have taken out our shields entirely!"

Toran roared "Where the hell did it come from, did we hit a mine?"

Persion was staring at a display and said, "No it came from the BigHamma, they accelerated a gravitic implosive to near light speed." Silence fell at that pronouncement and Toran stared at the Hololith as he realised the horrible truth.

"The Orks," Toran said in disbelief, "They have a Nova Canon."


	3. Chapter 3

**Ancra Mortis: Chapter 3**

In orbit over Glaeba was a collection of vessels, the word fleet did not really suit them for they were a motley assemblage of scows, wrecks and junkers. By all rights none of the vessels should move, any sane engineer would swear that they would leak air and tear themselves apart the first time they lit their reactors, but move they did and fight. The ramshackle flotilla broke orbit and headed out to deep space, they moved sluggishly out of the gravity well but picking up speed once they were free, eager to meet the oncoming imperial fleet.

In the centre of the motley congregation was a brutal faced Kroozer, covered in primitive armour and with a ludicrous amount of gunz poking out of its prow and flanks. Once it had been a proud ship of the Imperial Navy, once it had been known as the Pride of Valdor, a Dominator Class cruiser of Battlefleet Bakka but now it was a tool of the Orks. They had found it dead and adrift in the cold reaches of space and taken for their own, now it was filled with roaring Greenskins. It was called Da BigHamma and it had just fired its Nova Cannon, a feat few would believe Orks were capable of achieving.

On the Kroozer bridge was bedlam, a chaotic anarchy that would have horrified any naval officer with its disorder and inefficiency. Consoles sparked and worn cables trailed over the deck like a basket of snakes as a blurring, grainy Hololith jumped erratically overhead, casting mad lights over everything. Orks ran to and fro bellowing at each other while gretchin sat idly at consoles, picking their noses and scratching their bums, one of them even pulled a gobbet of snot from a nasal cavity and idly wiped it on the back of the head of the gretchin sat before it.

In the middle of this walking calamity was a trio of Orks, each far bigger and more muscular than the rest as befits leaders of the Greenskins. The first and by far the largest was a strange sight, it wore an odd assortment of garments, all of various colours and materials that strained to cover its bulging muscles. In one hand it casually held a cleaver the size of a logging saw and on its head was a tricorn hat with a faded red feather, its face was a mass of scars and from its lower lip protruded a single massive fang that was capped with steel and sharpened to a razor edge. The Ork's name was Razatoof and he was furiously bellowing, "Wat da Kak was dat?!"

The second Ork was only slightly smaller and wore a ramshackle suit of Mega-armour, it was coloured grey with black and yellow chevrons that announced it had formerly been a suit of Terminator plate from the Iron Warriors. The former owner's head was stuck on a spike that rose over the Ork's shoulder and painted in big red letters across its chest was the name, Skulcrusha. The Ork answered the question by saying, "We missed Kaptin."

Razatoof barked, "I's can see dat ya git, wat I wants to know iz how?"

The third Ork spoke up, this one festooned with spanners, wrenches and a big lenspiece over its forehead that proclaimed it was Mekboy, the Ork's name was Nutgud and he stated in an distracted tone of voice, "Quantum variances in the alignment of the gravimetric impeller field renders the probability of actually hitting a specific target extremely low at this range." The other two stared at Nutgud, waiting for the Mekboy to make sense. The Ork saw their stares and stuck a finger into his ear, he wiggled it up and down then he ventured in more Orkish tones, "Errr… Just Bad luk?"

Razatoof snarled, "Rite den, whose in charge of da Klabba?"

From the mad anarchy one Ork stood up and said, "Me Boss, its Zakkad."

Razatoof glared at the Ork and spat, "Wat's Rule One?"

Zakkad frowned and quoted by rote, "Da Boss iz a Kaptin an he's da only Kaptin."

Razatoof didn't looked pleased as he growled, "Rite, and how does you explain missing?"

Zakkad thought about it and said, "Ummmmmmm…" Razatoof's cleaver blurred as the Kaptin threw it, spinning over and over to shear off one of Zakkad's arms in a shower of gore, leaving the Ork standing there dripping blood from the stump.

Zakkad looked down at the stump and said, "Geez, thanks for not taking me head off Kaptin."

Razatoof shrugged and said, "Just a warning shot for a first offence, get your arse to da painboyz later and they gives you a new arm, all dead snippy like. Now back to work and don't miss again."

As Gretchin dragged the cleaver back to the Kaptin, Razatoof looked up at the fizzing and static filled Hololith. He stared at the oncoming Imperial fleet flying right towards them, they were spreading out now to lessen the chances of being hit and picking up speed. Razatoof chomped his jaw eagerly as his eyes fixated on the Space Marine Battle-barge headed their way and said, "Hoomies iz sometimes good for a scrap but Beakies, they always gives da Boyz a proper fight."

Skulcrusha sniffed and said, "Dem Marine Boyz ain't so tough, those Bugs croppin up everywhere, now that's a rite good fight."

Razatoof shook his head making his feather quiver and said, "Bugs iz alrite but there's never any good loot after. Beakies always has the flashiest grubbins and you'ze knows Rule three."

Skulcrusha nodded and said, "When you Zog em, Zog em good and 'ard."

Razatoof scowled and said, "No dats Rule two, wats Rule three?"

Skulcrusha's forehead crinkled in furious concentration as he tried to remember more than two things and he went, "Urrrrmmmm…"

Razatoof sighed and said, "Always make sure to gets away with da bestest Loot."

"Rite" said Skulcrusha in relief then said, "Dats why we filled our bilges with Swag."

Their conversation was interrupted as a Gretchin started leaping up and down, waving its arms as it cried, "Kaptin, Kaptin its Big Boss RotSkarr on the horn from da planetside an he aint happy, he wants us to fire da Klabba again sharpish!"

"RotSkarr iz a berk and he aint up here," Razatoof declared, "We fire da Klabba when I'm good and ready."

He paused dramatically for effect as the Orks all looked at him then he said, "Rite dat's long enough… fire da Klabba!"

The order sent a furious swirl of activity racing around the dilapidated bridge, Orks shouting contradictory orders at one another and Gretchin running around in confusion as they tried to obey everybody at once. Such a mad tangle should never have manged to achieve a complex operation like firing a Nova Cannon but somehow out of the chaos rose order, patterns forming in the anarchy with instinctive ease. The Orks had no idea how they managed to do it but slowly power drained away from the ship into the mighty gun and targeting algorithms poured into wheezing cogitators as the Nova Cannon prepared to fire.

In the centre of the madness Nutgud yelled, "Da Klabba iz getting hot, shes almost ready to fire!"

Razatoof growled "It had betta work rite this time."

Nutgud nodded eagerly and said in a distant tone, "Gravitic impellers are at eighty-five percent charge and show no variance in field alignment, if the targeting is correct we should hit our target."

Skulcrusha frowned and said, "Wut?"

Nutgud blinked as his eyes cleared and then said in more Orkish tone, "Da gun iz dead straight now."

"Gud" said Razatoof as the lights dimmed over the bridge and gravity was sent skittering off kilter as power drained from all over the ship, he paused and stared at the Hololith impatiently. After a long moment a big red light started flashing all over the bridge and Razatoof yelled, "Fire ya gits!"

The whole length of the Bighamma shuddered as the Nova Cannon discharged, accelerating a projectile towards the Imperials at near light speed. The entire ship shook violently as if it had been slapped, decks bucking under the Ork's boots and flinging Gretchin about like rag dolls, many falling under heavy machinery to be crushed but no one cared about them. The whole vessel was shunted backwards by the recoil of the shot, its plasma engines flaring like captured suns to compensate for the loss of momentum. On the bridge Razatoof watched the Hololith and saw the bomb going off, a crude gravity device imploding to create a microscopic black hole right over the spine of one of the Imperial cruisers. Void shields proved useless as the gravity waves tore at the cruiser's superstructure, ripping armour plates, guns and internal braces right out of the hull to leave gaping holes. The wounded ship lurched horribly and fell behind, limping along as air and plasma spilled out of the gaping holes in the hull.

Razatoof bellowed with harsh laughter and roared, "Dats more like it!"

Behind him Skulcrusha didn't seem quite as elated and muttered, "Just aint da same."

Razatoof spun on his heel and barked, "Wut was dat?"

Skulcrusha started in surprise and said, "Nothing Kaptin, just saying a proper Ork should be doin his Zoggin all up close and personal like."

Razatoof stepped forwards and growled, "Iz you callin me Yella?"

Skulcrusha looked the bigger Ork in the eye for a moment as the whole bridge watched the confrontation but then he backed down and shook his head stating, "No Kaptin, no I aint saying that at all."

Razatoof gave him a long, hard stare then said, "Gud… now what's dem Hoomies doing?"

Nutgud fixed his lens over his eye and peered at a console before saying, "Dey pickin up speed Kaptin, comin right at us dead fast like."

Razatoof chuckled and said, "See, didnt I say dem Beakies are always gud for a fight, now get your arse in gear and fire da Klabba again."

Nutgud glanced at the Hololith where the Imperial ships were barrelling towards them, the great battle-barge at their head charging like a maddened Grox and he asked, "We got time for dat?"

Razatoof declared confidently, "Dere's always time for another Zoggin."

Once more power built up in the Nova Cannon and the bridge lights dimmed, the only illumination now came from the Hololith which showed the Imperial fleet hurtling forwards, desperately trying to close the range. Razatoof paced back and forth in frustration as the long preparations occurred but then, just as the Imperials were about to cross the threshold of effective range, the lights flashed red and the Kaptin yelled, "Fire!"

Another projectile shot outwards and hurtled into the Imperial formation, against all odds the bomb actually impacted a starship at near light speed with a force no conventional weapon could achieve, ploughing deep within to cause catastrophic damage. It was one of the Firestorm class frigates and it simply disintegrated under the blow, shattering to fling debris outwards in all directions. Then the bomb's gravity waves surged and it was all sucked back inwards, crushed into a tiny ball of wreckage.

Razatoof laughed uproariously at the sight in the Hololith and said, "Dat's the way to do it!" His laughter died when he saw flurries of Ork ships passing by them in the Hololith and he bellowed, "Wat's they doin?"

Skulcrusha answered, "Looks like dey wanna get in the fight before us."

The Hololith flashed as if in response to his words and Nutgud yelled, "Hoomies launchin Torpedoes Kaptin!"

Skulcrusha barked, "Da fight's startin without us!"

"Sod that!" Razatoof bellowed glaring angrily at the crew, "Get dis piece a' Kak moving, dere's a proper fight on and I aint gonna miss it!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Ancra Mortis: Chapter 4**

On the Light of Terra's bridge the tension could have been cut with a knife, the crew struggling to remain calm and focussed in the face of looming tragedy. The serfs were as well trained and disciplined as men could be, but their confidence had been shattered by the Ork's unexpected prowess and they were on the verge of panic. Only one thing was holding the hysteria at bay, the solid, unflappable presence of their Space Marine masters, each stoic and unwavering in the face of doom.

Standing on the command dais Captain Toran could have been carved from stone, he appeared utterly composed and unflustered by the sudden turn of events and he was calling out orders in steady tone of voice, "Signal the troop transports that they must increase speed, the fleet is accelerating and if they lag behind then they will be easy pickings for the Orks. Luctator squadron is bunched too tight, order them to increase their intervals by one hundred kilometres each."

The words sounded good but they were intended more to assure the men that he remained in control than anything else. Toran felt the tension as much as they did and knew far better than they how much danger everybody was in, but his training and hypno-indoctrination allowed him to master his anxiety and perform his duty regardless. From the corner of his eye Toran spied Chaplain Wrethan and Apothecary Memnos re-entering the bridge, hurrying onto the command dais and hastily asking, "What's happening?"

Toran answered, "The Orks fired a Nova Cannon at us."

Memnos scoffed and said, "Surely not, Orks aren't capable of such a feat."

However Wrethan growled, "Apparently they are, the question is what are we doing about it?"

Toran answered, "I have ordered the fleet to increase speed and spread out to ensure one blast can't take out multiple ships."

Wrethan said, "We could be travelling much faster, if we leave the Transports behind we could close the distance before they can fire again."

Toran answered, "No, hitting the Orks piecemeal would be futile, the fleet has to hit them as one massive sledgehammer to break through or they will crush us one at a time." Wrethan said, "That is a mistake, have you considered…" Toran cut him off saying, "Father with all due respect I do not have time to be answering questions, I am in command here and can not afford to have my decisions second-guessed in combat."

Wrethan blinked at the rebuke, not used to being addressed so but Toran was no longer a novice or even a Sergeant, he was a decorated Captain in his own right and held greater rank in regards to tactical matters. Toran saw the conflict in the Chaplain's eyes; he had been held back from combat for almost a year and yearned to prove himself but knew that his duty was to vouchsafe the morale and moral conduct of the men. Questioning the Captain before the crew could only undermine that role and the Chaplain had to be seen to support Toran's decisions, in public at least.

Suddenly the Sensorium rang with alarms and Persion cried, "Energy spike detected, the Orks are charging to fire!"

Toran bellowed, "Brace for Impact!"

All over the ship crewmen ran to close hatches and secure munitions or energy sources but against all expectations they were not the target. A distant flash from the Ork ships was all the warning anyone had before a projectile was speeding past the Battle-barge to detonate among the fleet, wrecking terrible damage with its gravitic force.

As the bridge rocked from jarring gravity waves Toran roared, "What ship was that?"

Persion shouted back, "The Spetsai, she's hurt badly, energy emissions are diminished and she's bleeding air. They crippled her in one shot!"

Toran ordered, "Put me through to her Captain."

Persion bent to direct the serfs and in a moment the vox snarled with static but it was not a Captain's voice that came through, instead a profusion of tangled shouts and cries burst out, each racked with panic and terror. Toran listened to the overlapping cries and heard the distress in each as they shouted, "Fires raging on deck seventeen… seven hundred dead in the starboard batteries… wheres the damned Medicaes… shut that hatch, shut it now or we lose the ship… the Captain, where's the captain… Help us, for Throne's sake help us!"

Toran saw the noise was disturbing his crew, men looking fearful at the distress filled cries and he said, "Cut that off and get me Captain Mandas." The vox cut out and the Hololith pedestal sizzled before projecting the man's image, Mandas looked harassed and frazzled but he saw the link and blurted out, "I know, I know the Spetsai is hit, Captain Horatin and his senior officers are all dead. I've managed to get through to a Lieutenant-Commander Grenfeld, he's taking command from the Spetsai's auxiliary bridge." Toran wasn't surprised the veteran navy man had anticipated his orders and moved on to say, "Tell them the Spetsai must keep pace with the fleet, we need every gun she has left. And spread the word I am ordering the fleet to initiate the Ollonius manoeuvre."

Mandas raised an eyebrow and said, "Bold, but it just might work, the Imperial Navy will be ready."

Toran ordered, "Good, leave this link open."

He turned and called, "Persion, how long was it between shots?"

Persion checked and answered, "Twelve minutes."

Toran addressed the helm and called, "Furion, how long till we reach weapons range?"

Furion answered without having to look, "Fifteen minutes."

That announcement sent waves of panic across the bridge as Memnos muttered, "The Orks will get off another shot before we can return the favour." It seemed many men reached the same conclusion for hysterical babbling swept the bridge, mean sweating and shaking in fear. The Space Marines growled at the serfs and made them sit down but even their presence could not suppress the fear creeping up into men's hearts, wrapping around their souls and numbing their senses.

It was Wrethan who saw the fear take hold and boldly he stepped forwards, stamping his feet and as all eyes turned to him he lifted his voice in an ancient battle hymn of the Imperium. His voice carried through the hubbub clearly and every man could hear him, the words were ancient, the meaning almost lost to history but the spirit was undeniable. Wrethan sang of brave souls who had stood against the ultimate horror, he sang of noble sacrifice and unyielding defiance, he sang of courage and honour even in the face of death. Slowly a man in the gunnery pews took up the hymn, then those around him and those around them until the whole bridge crew was singing their defiance, their hearts filled with resolute determination.

Toran watched Wrethan march up and down the length of the bridge as the minutes crawled by, knowing that this was a sight he would cherish for the rest of his days. Brave souls defiant in the face of death, a vision of what humanity could achieve if only they were able to unite against every horror the malevolent universe could throw at them. The time crept by as the fleets hurtled towards each other and then just before they could cross into weapons range the alarms shrieked again and Persion cried, "Their firing, their firing!" The Hololith flashed as the Orks fired another projectile into the fleet and the ship rocked once more from the gravity waves.

Toran called, "Who was that?"

Persion looked aghast as he cried, "One of the Firestorms, Triton three is hit… no, it's gone, its just gone!"

Toran gritted his teeth knowing that the lives of three thousand brave men had been snuffed out in a moment but he growled, "They shall be avenged, what are the Orks doing?"

Persion answered, "Rushing forwards, escorts are pulling ahead of the Capital ships, we are facing a wall of gunz, all headed our way."

Toran nodded, "Typical Ork behaviour, Novak is the Ordnance ready?"

Novak called, "All set Captain and awaiting your order, everybody knows what to do!"

Toran watched the Hololith as the seconds crawled by and he gripped the command rail tight but then the fleet crossed a theoretical line, too close for the Orks to use their Nova Cannon but perfect for Ordnance. Toran turned to the image of Mandas and said, "Georgios, would you care to join us in a torpedo volley?"

Mandas grinned savagely and said, "Captain Toran, it would be our genuine pleasure."

Toran nodded and ordered, "All crew begin Ollonius manoeuvre, launch torpedoes!"

The great ship rang as six massive plasma fired cylinders leapt from her prow, streaking away into the midnight sky. They were joined by a salvo from the Averof and in moments twelve torpedoes were racing for the Ork fleet, Toran watched them in the Hololith as they crawled across the display and muttered, "Take the bait… take the bait."

Suddenly Persion cried, "New contacts, strike craft emerging from the Mork's Fist, Fighter-Bombers are moving to intercept the torpedoes!"

Toran said, "That's not a Kill Kroozer, it's a Terror Ship and it's played right into our hands."

On the Hololith the Ork strike craft moved to intercept the torpedoes and burned hard to match velocities, Toran watched them swing about and let them close, then when the moment was right he cried, "Novak, send the signal!"

There was a heart-stopping moment when nothing happened but then the Hololith flashed as more strike craft emerged, right on the torpedoes tail and pouncing upon the unprepared Ork fighter-bombers. First conceived by a long-dead Ultramarines Chapter Master the Ollonius manoeuvre required a flight of fighters to fly right in a torpedo's wake and disguise their engine signatures in the plasma wash to surprise a foe. It required expert piloting but then Thunderhawk pilots were the very best the Imperium had to offer. Toran watched the swirling icons in the Hololith, knowing the tiny dots represented brave men fighting and dying in the cold dark of space. He wanted to be among them, he wanted to meet the Orks head on but knew the pilots had their battles and he had his. He waited until all the Ork strike craft were fully engaged with the Thunderhawks then he turned to Mandas and said, "Captain, you may signal the Lemnos, they are clear to launch their strike."

The man nodded and quickly more strike craft entered the fray, four squadrons of imperial Starhawk bombers spilling into the dark, headed straight for the Ork fleet. With the Ork's fighter cover engaged there was nothing to stop the bombers and they met the oncoming escort frigates head-on, the void lit up with defensive tracers but the bombers kept going. Tiny flares signalled several bombers being swatted out of the vacuum but the flak barrage could not stop the others and as one the bombers fired their missiles at the escorts. Four brilliant explosions shone clear as day as a group of Ork escorts were obliterated in plasma fire, ripping a gaping hole in the Greenskin's formations.

Cheers erupted on the bridge of the Light of Terra and Persion yelled, "They've done it, we have our opening!"

Memnos muttered, "Still a bloody lot of Orks out there, this is going to cost us."

"We shall weather the storm and emerge unbroken" Toran stated then he ordered, "Signal the fleet forwards, into the fire of hell, into the valley of death!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Ancra Mortis: Chapter 5**

Across the inky blackness of space two fleets hurtled at each other, each bearing the mightiest of weapons, each filled with grim determination. One side was made up of ramshackle vessels filled with roaring savage monsters; the other was formed from the proud lines of Imperial ships and was filled with brave men, determined to exact vengeance for the slain.

On the bridge of the Battle-Barge Light of Terra, Captain Toran was shouting, "Hold your course, take us straight at them and drain power from the rearward Void shields, divert it all to the forward deflectors, we need them at maximum strength. Persion signal the troop transports, they must remain in our wake, we will take the Ork's strike so they don't have to."

Various serfs hastened to obey as in the Hololith the oncoming wave of Ork escorts filled the display, Gunz looming large over every the gunnery pews Jediah called, "Orks will cross into weapons range in one minute, request permission to greet them with the bombardment canons."

Toran replied resolutely, "Negative, don't waste your shots, we will need to hit them with our full broadsides as we pass through their formation."

Jediah nodded and bent to direct the gunnery serfs but on the command dais Memnos muttered quietly, "That means yielding the first salvo to the Orks."

Toran did not turn from the Hololith as he said, "That can't be helped, the Emperor in his divine wisdom saw fit to place the majority of our weapons on the sides of our ships, not the front."

Memnos said, "We could approach at an oblique angle, give them a broadside to remember."

Toran shook his head and said, "We don't have the time, our orders are to get the army to the ground as quickly as possible, the only way out is forward."

Memnos settled back as the Hololith lit up and from the sensorium Persion cried, "Orks are firing!"

From the engineering section Bylan called, "+Preparing to Brace!+"

"Belay that order!" Toran shouted, "We need the power for our return salvo, we will trust in our shields and our armour to stand true. Fear not the teeth of the foe, this proud vessel is a warship of the Adeptus Astartes, a Battle-Barge no less. She was built for war and can take whatever the Greenskins can throw at us!"

Toran's words proved prophetic for just as he finished speaking the oncoming Orks opened fire, their prows lighting up with a dazzling barrage of destruction. The Orks fired Zzap guns, rokkets, linear accelerators, las blasters and even crude chemically propelled shells into the vacuum, all headed towards the Imperial fleet. The barrage was more or less evenly divided between the Light of Terra and the Averof, two waves of destruction headed inexorably towards the largest ships in the fleet.

The first impacts struck the shields of both vessels, lighting up the voids as they shunted the destructive energy aside but then the full might of the salvo hit home and the ships were engulfed in a deadly fireworks display. A lightning storm of destruction swathed both ships, encircling their void shields and making them turn opaque, on and on the volley came, making space lit up with devastating power. Feedback from the onslaught fed back into the ships, disrupting power lines and making artificial gravity lurch as the generators struggled to keep pace with the conflicting energy washing over the ship. On the bridge everyone was holding onto consoles as the great vessel bucked and shuddered under the barrage, the great viewportals were closed but flashing alarms and blazing consoles made the space look like a fire pit regardless.

From the Engineerium Bylan was shouting, "+Heavy impacts across the forward deflectors, shields are buckling!+"

Clinging onto the rail of the command dais Toran cried, "Maintain course, hold her steady!"

The whole ship suddenly lurched as something massive impacted the shields and Bylan cried, "+Those were Atonomic detonations, shields are collapsing!+"

Toran practically roared, "Hold your course!" Suddenly a massive electrostatic burst swept over the ship and serfs cried out in fear as consoles blazed warnings, Bylan shouted, "+Shields are gone!+"

The Light of Terra rocked as waves of rokkets and lasblasts tore into the dorsal hull, tearing into thick armour and carving deep furrows into her superstructure. Compartments were blown open to space while auspex arrays and comms towers were ripped free by the deadly force, but the Battle-barge weathered the storm and kept on going.

Bylan was calling, "+Damage to dorsal spine, multiple impact points, we are bleeding air+"

Toran answered, "Hold your nerve, this ship's spirit is strong, we shall endure this and not be bowed!"

A surge of feedback blew a power line under the floor and several men fell screaming as they were electrocuted. Apothecary Memnos leapt over the command rail and ran to their aid, medical tools already being extended from his gauntlet.

Meanwhile, from the juddering ordnance pulpit Novak called, "Does this remind anyone else of the Emperor's Storm on our homeworld?"

From the shaking sensorium Persion shouted back, "No, no it really doesn't!"

Toran ignored their bravado and fixed his eyes on the Hololith, watch the Ork icons crawl closer, moving into the arcs of the Battle-barge's broadsides. The bridge was filled with thunderous booms and fearful cries but Chaplain Wrethan was a rock and marched sternly about, keeping the serf's nerves steady with psalms praising the Divine Emperor. Toran saw that Jediah was staring at him, willing him to give the order to fire but the Captain held his nerve for a few more moments then finally he cried, "Port and starboard weapon batteries, fix your targets and fire on my mark…. MARK!" With a flash of devastating power both flanks of the great ship erupted, macro canons, plasma annihilators, turbo lasers and missile batteries unleashing their power in both directions. The battle-barge creaked and groaned from the stress of simultaneous broadsides but the carnage it unleashed was overwhelming.

Toran stared into the Hololith and saw the Orks inundated with fire at point-blank range, the potency of the barrage swamping their crude shields and ripping into their hulls with abandon. They had wounded the Battle-barge but it utterly mauled them in return and the first salvo alone gutted a pair of Ork escorts, leaving them drifting dead in the void. The honour of first blood went to the Light of Terra but close behind her the Averof was determined not to be outdone, her own prow scored and ravaged but her guns were just as deadly. With a blaze of light the cruiser unleashed her own weapon batteries and lances, filling the void with destructive potential, sweeping the Orks with wave after wave of carnage. Escorts quivered under the blows as their hulls were ripped open, one of them falling inert and powerless as its reactors failed and several others were left helpless as they desperately tried to evade.

Toran saw the Ork's momentary vulnerability and ordered, "All bombardment canons to port, target those shieldless frigates!" The crew hurried to obey and the massive turrets swung about, bringing city-killing weapons to bear, there was a brief pause then great plumes of flame announced that the heavy guns were discharging. Two Ork frigates were caught by the great magma bombs and were penetrated deeply; they hung still for a single second then blew apart as the shells detonated within them. Jediah cried, "Glorious, look at that power!" but Toran was watching the Hololith, seeing true battle be joined.

Everywhere swirling Ork frigates swept into the Imperial fleet, blasting away with their gunz to batter the noble ships of mankind with wild abandon. The Imperial fleet responded with their full fury, batteries and lances firing in all directions, their own escorts turning hard to bring their might into the fray. Toran watched via the Hololith and saw the Lemnos was struggling to recover her bombers and relaunch them but even as she reloaded her prow lances were firing, stabbing out into the dark. The wounded Spetsai was also doing her name proud, even in a crippled state she refused to yield and blasted away with whatever weapons she had left. Toran saw Luctator squadron swinging hard about, chasing a pair of Orks right into the teeth of Triton squadron's guns, twin lance blasts dissecting the ramshackle vessels with surgical precision. Even the troop transports were firing, adding their puny might to the fray, for whatever it was worth.

Toran's mind processed the battle and he saw that the Imperials were wrecking a terrible toll upon the Greenskins but the Orks still had the weight of numbers and were moving into the rear of the fleet, outside the targeting arcs of the greatest warships. Toran knew that if they were allowed free reign then they would rip the Imperial fleet apart and he ordered, "Signal Luctator squadron and Triton squadron to break formation and pursue the Ork escorts, their commanders have full discretion to engage as they will."

The Imperial frigates broke away and chased the Orks, nipping at their heels, they had speed and wider arcs of fire but the Greenskin's sheer numbers made it hard to keep them corralled. Toran watched as the outnumbered Imperials fought to keep the fleet's rear clear but then a quartet of Ork escorts broke through and stormed back into the fleet with gunz blazing.

Persion called, "Captain the Orks, they are targeting the Lemnos!"

Toran could see that himself, but it was Furion who called, "Sir, if we wheel right we can provide covering fire with our broadsides."

Toran shook his head forlornly and called, "No we turn too slowly to intervene and if we even try then the troop transports will be exposed to the Ork Capital ships. Getting those men on the ground is our first priority…"

Everybody fell silent knowing that they could not intervene as the Orks fell upon the Lemnos, unleashing a furious barrage right into its flank. The light carrier's shields held for the first few moments but then they collapsed with an electrostatic burst and the volley smashed right into its hull. With the hanger doors open to receive incoming bombers the Ork's blasts surged right into her interior, detonating fuel and munitions stored ready for the flight crews. A series of massive explosions wracked the cruiser and gutted its insides, setting fires burning on every deck.

Toran watched grimly as the Orks ripped the Lemnos asunder and he ordered, "Hail that ship."

A squeal of static came over the vox before a lone panicked voice broke out saying, "hear me… I repeat this is Captain Geagorian… my crew are dying…cant raise the hangers…fires on every deck… cant stop it…can anyone hear me?"

Toran wasted not a moment to cry, "Captain your vessel is lost, give the order to abandon ship, get your men to the saviour pods. For the Emperor's sake get them to the saviour pods!"

"Too late" cried the doomed captain, "It's too late!"

The Hololith flared with light as the Lemnos tore itself apart, a newborn sun appearing in her heart to render the ship and all its crew down to fine dust. Persion cried, "Her reactors, they went critical… she's gone."

Toran snarled in anger but suppressed his rage to focus on the practical as he had been trained, then he spat, "Status of the Ork escorts?"

Persion replied, "Breaking off and running out for another pass."

Toran stared at the icons on the Hololith and said, "Order Luctator squadron and Triton Squadron to keep pursuing them, do whatever it takes to keep them at bay."

Memnos returned to the dais and said, "What will we be doing?"

Toran replied firmly, "Three Ork capital ships are still in our path, the Light of Terra, the Averof and the Spetsai must engage them long enough for the troop transports to break past. The easy part of the battle is over, now comes the hard part."

Memnos swallowed and said, "Courage and Honour."

Toran whispered to himself, "I'm not sure that that will be enough this time."


	6. Chapter 6

**Ancra Mortis: Chapter 6**

Far above the green field and blue skies of Glaeba battle raged, vessels kilometres long trading broadsides in furious exchanges of devastation. The orbital lanes were littered with debris and shorn armour, mixed with unexploded munitions and frozen bodies that had been blown into the unforgiving dark by the violence. Between the two sides raced clouds of smaller craft, noble Thunderhawks racing against crude fighter-bombers, the Orks had the numbers but the Transhuman pilots were wrecking a terrible tally with every second that passed.

On the bridge of the Light of Terra Captain Toran was gripping the command rail as the great ship heaved both from the fusillades exploding against her shields and the return volleys she was spewing into the void. The Captain was roaring, "Report status!" From the engineerium station, Bylan responded, "+Shields are barely holding, but they are holding+"

Toran responded, "It's enough, where are the Orks?"

Persion replied, "Mork's Fist and Bighamma are closing fast, Maw a'Gork is holding back, they know we have to get past them to commence the invasion."

Toran ordered, "Furion, keep us between the Orks and the Troop transports, they are helpless to defend themselves. Jediah, concentrate all fire upon the Mork's Fist, if we can take out their carrier then our Thunderhawks will have an easier time of it."

The crew hastened to obey but suddenly Persion cried, "Energy spike, the Maw a'Gork is powering up for something!"

The Hololith flashed as space rippled and Bylan shouted, "+Enginseers report massive gravity distortions, the Orks are firing some form of Graviton beamer at us!+"

The whole ship lurched as space itself twisted and the bridge crew were thrown sideways by the sudden rocking motion, men clinging onto consoles to prevent being thrown from their stations. Toran was practically thrown over the rail and only saved himself by grabbing on and clinging fiercely to it.

He dragged himself back to his feet and said, "Report, were we hit?"

Bylan called, "+Not us+"

Persion stated, "They hit the Averof instead."

Toran cried, "Hail Mandas now!"

The hololith projector flickered and then the Navy man appeared, washed out monochrome by erratic distortions. Toran said, "Captain, how bad is your damage?"

Mandas replied, "We are wounded but we are not dead yet, there's some fight in the old bitch yet. Commander, we can't let them fire that Graviton beamer again, it will rip us to shreds at this range, you have to take it out. Leave the Averof and the Spetsai to engage these Kroozers, you take out that battleship."

Toran knew he was right, they had to close with the Maw a'Gork, but in any equation a pair of cruisers was a poor match against two Kill Kroozers. Toran swallowed knowing he was leaving Mandas to die and said, "Are you trying to be a hero?"

Mandas replied deadpan, "Just trying to win that wager, I really want that bottle of wine."

"Emperor be with you," said Toran impressed by the man's defiant attitude, "Furion, increase acceleration, take us right at that Battleship."

With a flare of power the Light of Terra surged forwards, burning hard to meet the Orks head on, with weapons locked and loaded. Toran stared at the data in the Hololith and saw that while the Maw a'Gork had been designated a battleship in reality it was more akin to a Space Hulk, a massive conglomeration of hulls, engines and prows that vastly outclassed the lone Battle-barge. Across its prow was an effigy of an Ork's face, formed out of dead ships and broken spars, it seemed somehow to be gnashing its teeth in eager anticipation of the fight to come.

Toran was not about to yield the initiative and the second they crossed into guns range bellowed, "Fire all weapons!" The battle- barge shook as her batteries unleashed hell, swiftly joined by the bombardment cannons. The barrage crossed the distance in moments and impacted over the Ork's prow, primitive forcefields failed and the volley carved into the armour beneath, blowing out compartments and wrecking carnage as it punched deeply within. The Imperials had inflicted considerable damage but the great battleship did not seem to even notice, the vessel ploughing on with fire wreathing its jaws. It swung about to bring an insane amount of Gunz to bear and with a flash the entire forward section of the Battleship lit up, flinging a torrent of shells into space. The sheer number of weapons made it seem like a part of the battleship had detached itself and barrelled straight at the Space Marine vessel.

The Battle-barge rang like a bell as it was inundated with fire, explosions wracking it from stem to stern. Astartes vessels were built to take punishment, but this was testing the limits of even so venerable a craft.

On the bridge serfs screamed and alarms wailed as Bylan shouted, "+Shields have failed, impacts on every deck, were taking a pounding!+"

Toran gritted his teeth, stunned by the weight of the incoming fire, he tried to think of something valiant and heartening to shout to the crew but his mind was blank and all he could muster was a feeble cry of "Hold on men!"

On and on the barrage came and systems failed under the strain, servitors spasming and dying as feedback ripped them apart. The Light of Terra writhed under the onslaught, hundreds of men dying as their ship was pierced by thousands of rounds and flames filled the upper hull.

Finally the deluge tapered off and Bylan reported, "+Heavy damage to all dorsal compartments, we can't take another broadside like that+"

Toran called sternly, "Status of weapons?"

Jediah responded, "Munition feeds were severed across several decks, we need ten minutes to clear the damage and get the guns firing again."

Toran looked up into the Hololith and saw the titanic Ork battleship bearing down on them, closing to point-blank range with terrible ire and he muttered, "We don't have ten minutes."

As the Ork battleship bore down on the stricken Battle-barge it produced a veritable forest of gunz, fresh weapons protruding from its face to target the wounded Space Marine vessel. Toran saw the Greenskins preparing for another barrage and called, "Furion bring us about to face the Orks and prepare for a ramming action, it will tear us up but we might just force an opening for the Troop Transports to slip by."

Yet before anyone could enact the order Persion suddenly shouted, "Sir, there's another ship vectoring in… it's the Averof!" Toran turned in surprise and saw that he was right; the cruiser had somehow broken past the pair of Ork Kroozers and was accelerating hard to intercept the duelling battleships.

Toran's eye glanced over the Hololith readouts and he was stunned by what he saw, the Averof was burning from a hundred wounds and had great gouges torn into its hull. The whole starboard side of the ship looked like it had been chewed off by enormous vermin and the outgassing was causing the whole vessel to roll over and over. Toran had no idea how the ship was still moving, let alone expecting to join a duel of this magnitude. The hololith pedestal flared and the image of Captain Mandas appeared, he looked battered himself and from somewhere had acquired a cut to the forehead that bled profusely but he stood defiant and was shouting, "Light of Terra this is the Averof, we have monitored your situation, hold on this one is going to be close!"

Toran had no idea what the man was planning to do and said, "Mandas it's too late, you are too heavily outmatched and half your guns are slagged."

Mandas replied grimly as he said, "Who needs guns when you have torpedoes."

Toran's jaw dropped and he saw in the displays that the Averof had opened her torpedo tubes, six ship-killing warheads all primed and ready to fire. Toran blurted out, "Mandas that will not work, we are too close to the Ork battleship. The Torpedo's auspex won't be able to differentiate between us and the foe; you are as likely to strike us as them."

Mandas smirked and he said with a glint in his eye, "Who said anything about using Auspex?"

Toran was shocked into silence by the pronouncement and he wasn't the only one, the whole bridge falling silent as the sheer audacity of what Mandas was proposing took their breath away. It fell to Persion to sum up everybody's sentiment by saying utterly aghast, "Mark one eyeball, he is going to fire a torpedo salvo using nothing but dead reckoning… He's insane, the man's insane!"

There was no time to talk Mandas out of his reckless proposal for the Averof was already launching, a fusillade of plasma Torpedoes leaping from her prow and dashing across the void. Toran could do nothing but watch as the salvo tore blindly into the dark, guided by nothing other than the eyesight of a mortal man. It was a ludicrous endeavour, even Toran (with a Transhuman's ability to calculate vectors) would never have considered attempting it. All Toran could do was watch as the Torpedoes hurtled through the void, drawing ever closer to the duelling battleships, then there was a flash and they shot straight past the Astartes vessel. Six Torpedoes blurred past the battle-barge, one of them passing within a kilometre of the Light of Terra's hull, a terrifying near miss in space terms. It was either the single most audacious display of skill Toran had ever seen or the luckiest shot in history but regardless the Torpedoes all missed the Light of Terra and raced straight at the Maw a'Gork.

The torpedoes had drifted slightly apart in their journey, two of them sailing cleanly past the Maw a'Gork, another glancing off the crude armour without detonating to spin off into space, yet the other three hit perfectly. First a jet of melta fire from each warhead burned a deep channel into the armour, then chemical charges detonated throwing the central mass of the torpedos deeper into the slagged hull, then finally the main Plasma charges ignited. Three enormous balls of fire blossomed across the prow of the Ork battleship, disfiguring its face and leaving vast craters gouged into the hull that spilled air and green bodies into the vacuum. The physical damage was severe but there was another effect entirely, for the energy of the blasts threw the prow of the battleship to one side, forcing its countless gunz away from the Light of Terra. Carried forward by its own momentum the Maw a'Gork lumbered inexorably past the Battle-barge, unable to bring itself about fast enough to re-engage.

On the bridge of the Light of Terra the serfs were cheering and roaring in relief at their salvation, even the Space Marines were not immune and breathed a little easier. Persion was even shaking his head saying, "He did it, the mad fool actually did it!"

Toran however was not celebrating but already shouting fresh orders, "The way is open, signal the Troop transports to move into low orbit and commence drop sequence. I want boots on the ground within ten minutes of Fourth Company's landing."

He turned to the image of Mandas and said, "What happened to the other Kroozers?"

Mandas reported briskly, "Mork's Fist has been reduced to a drifting Hulk and Spetsai is running rings around BigHamma, as long as they stay behind her stern they can keep that bitch busy for days."

Toran declared, "Good, I want you to do the same to Maw a'Gork, while we make our run and deploy Fourth Company. Then we will come about to finish off that brute together."

Mandas nodded and said, "I will try to leave some Orks for you but I won't make any promises I can't keep."

Toran smiled at the brave man's choler and said, "We will be back, until then: good hunting."


	7. Chapter 7

**Ancra Mortis: Chapter 7**

The planet Glaeba was swathed in thick clouds, made dirty by the soot and smoke of war. Here the Orks had come and the greenskin tide was engulfing the primary continent, millions of bestial Boyz rampaging as they will, but they were not unopposed. Great cities stood proud against the barbarian hordes, brave men of the PDF and Guard garrison standing on the mighty walls, determined to resist to the last breath. Every man knew they had a choice, fight for their lives or die running away and given even the smallest chance at life the men all chose to stand firm.

The Orks had come to take this world for all it was worth and they had slain millions of innocents already, but high above their heads the situation had changed. Sailing proudly into low orbit was a flotilla of Imperial ships; they were a collection of troop ships, mass conveyors and fuel tankers dedicated to relieving this world. Packed into their holds were sixty thousand fighting men of the Imperial Guard along with tanks, artillery and aircraft, all ready to deploy. They had also brought prefabricated bases, hospitals, repair yards and barracks along with enough supplies to support the whole endeavour for at least three months.

Sixty thousand men seemed a small army to drive off an Ork invasion, but they were not alone, for at the very head of the formation sailed the mighty form of the Light of Terra. She was recovering her exhausted Thunderhawk compliments but her main weapons were ready and her drop–pods loaded. On her bridge the crew hastened to prepare for the impending assault, racing to and fro as Engineers blessed logic engines and surveyors with sacred incense, beseeching the Machine Spirits to calculate the essential drop vectors. After a few minutes a stone gargoyle perched on a logic engine began spewing reams of parchment from a carved mouth slot and the Enginseers gathered this up with chants of thankfulness.

The calculated results were presented to Chaplain Wrethan who snatched them up with an impatient glower before stamping over to the Command dais where Toran and Memnos were overseeing preparations. He marched straight up to Captain Toran and said, "The Machine Spirits foretell that the optimum drop zone is right outside the capital city, we are on course but there is a problem: the Orks have the entire city besieged."

Toran nodded and opened a vox link to the drop-pod bay saying, "Captain Jossat, we are preparing to commence the assault, I am transcribing surveyor scans to your armour logs now. Be advised that the landing area is contested by the enemy, you will be deploying into an active battle zone. "  
Jossat's voice came back over the vox with eager relish, "Exactly how Fourth Company likes it, excellent work Toran you have my gratitude. Commence Codex assault doctrine; let them taste the wrath of the Storm Heralds."

Toran closed the link and called, "Novak, begin your preparations, I want a flawless deployment. Jediah begin targeting the Ork army with Bombardment cannons, take care brother for the Orks are perilously close to the civilian populace, much will rest upon your accuracy. Furion alter our trajectory to take us directly over the area, least time course if you please."

As the crew hurried to obey Chaplain Wrethan stepped closer and said, "Would that we could be in the first wave of the assault, to meet the Divine Emperor's foes head-on with Crozius in hand."  
Toran nodded and said, "I agree, there is nothing like true battle to fire the spirit but someone has to stay and guard the Battle-barge. At least we can affect the course of the war from the bridge; I imagine my squads below deck are going stir crazy with nothing to do."

From his other side Memnos commented, "You do realise that you are about to kill more Orks with this ship's guns than a Battle Company could do if they fired their bolters non-stop for a week. Honestly, all this power at your command and all you want to do is run right at the foe with a sharpened bit of metal in your hands."  
Wrethan glowered as he replied, "The Divine Emperor made us for the destruction of his foes and fulfilling that purpose is its own reward, but still there is no greater satisfaction than viscerally tearing an enemy apart with your own two hands."

Their doctrinal debate was interrupted as Persion called, "Tactical alert, we have a hostile contact rising up over the planetary terminus. Its small, barely even an escort… looks like an Ork runt struggling to climb out of the gravity well and its right in our way."  
Jediah called from the gunnery pews, "Permission to swat it with a round from the Bombardment cannon?"

Toran shook his head and said, "No we will need the Magma-Bombs for the assault, besides it's hardly a threat on its own."  
Wrethan stepped up and mindful of their earlier conversation said, "We should be cautious about letting an Ork vessel go uncontested; I would advise sending out some Thunderhawks to finish it off."  
Toran grinned wickedly and said, "I had no intention of letting it live but I had something a little more… visceral in mind."

The Captain turned to the helm and called, "Furion, do you see that ship in our path?"  
Furion called uncertainly, "Aye Sir."  
Toran said, "I don't want to anymore."  
Furion's face lit up as grasped the implication and he replied, "Understood Captain."

With flares of manoeuvring jets the great bow of the Battle-barge came about a few degrees before it surged forwards, riding a comet tail of plasma from her titanic engines. The colossal vessel bore down upon the tiny escort like a great oceanic predator bearing down on a tiny sprat. The Orks saw the enormous vessel bearing down upon them and tried to break away but they were caught in the gravity well and could not evade as a prow wider than their craft's entire length bore down upon them. The Light of Terra dove down like an avenging angel and no matter how the Xenos spun they could not escape their fate, then the Battle-barge rammed them at maximum acceleration.

This was titanic overkill, the Orks stood absolutely no chance and were utterly helpless as the Adamantium ramming spikes snagged the rear of their ship and tore right through it. The Ork escort was ripped apart by the force of the impact, spilling debris down either side of the Battle-barge's flanks and spilling fuel over its mighty prow like an aquatic ship cresting a wave in a spray of salt-water.

On the bridge the crew were shaken and jarred by the impact but quickly recovered and Toran turned to his companions saying, "Satisfying enough for you?"  
Wrethan's face was filled with relish as he said, "Yes indeed, perhaps naval warfare need not be so indifferent after all."

Toran turned back to the bridge and called, "Time to drop co-ordinates?"  
Furion checked his readouts and called, "Eleven minutes."

As the time crawled by Toran saw the bridge crew making preparations, performing routines that had been honed to perfection by ten thousand years of practice. Space Marines excelled at all forms of warfare but planetary assault was a role they had made all their own and no other force in the galaxy came close to matching their perfection. When they were barely a minute away from the correct position Toran turned to Chaplain Wrethan and said, "Father, would you address the crew?"

Wrethan stepped forwards and spoke boldly, "Soldiers of the Divine Emperor, today we bring His illumination upon the Xeno scourge once more. Today we show the alien that there will be no end to the penance he decrees and that there is no place in the galaxy that they can hide from His retribution. We are the instrument of that judgement, we are the tools of His retribution, sent to bring swift death to the enemies of Man: We are the Emperor's Storm!"

The whole bridge took up the traditional war cry and as one shouted with pride, "We are His wrath!"

Then a red light flashed in the Hololith and Toran cried, "Commence planetary assault!" Instantly the crew leapt into action, bringing time honoured sequences into effect, first the mighty Bombardment cannon swung about to face the planet far below and began firing Magma-bombs in a carefully timed barrage. Each shell was a city-killer, designed to obliterate whole urban environments but dispatched against an army out in the open they could be just as devastating. Between the kinetic energy of an object falling from orbit and the staggering potency of the warhead itself, the devastation would be total and absolute. Only a Starship class Void shield could offer protection from such power, which the Orks categorically did not have.

Before the firing sequence had even finished small ports along the Battle-barge's underside opened up and began ejecting an equally deadly cargo, drop pods filled with one hundred Space Marines. The tiny pods were shot out like bullets from a stubber and dove hard for the atmosphere, turning into fiery comets as they began the terrible process of re-entry. Their timing had been calculated to the second, perfectly planned to arrive the moment the orbital barrage ceased.

The Space Marines would emerge from their pods before the dust had even settled, to find a broken and shattered foe. The enemy would be dazed and confused by the orbital bombardment, easy prey for the Emperor's Finest. This was a tactic the Astartes had honed to perfection and it was their most iconic strategy, falling from the heavens with dread power in their hands, not for nothing were they known far and wide as the Angels of Death.

Toran watched the pods diving into war and wished himself among them; he wanted to be beside Captain Jossat as he set foot upon the ground, but he had his duties and regretfully called, "Status of drop?"  
Novak replied from the ordnance pulpit, "All pods successfully deployed, the first wave is away."  
"Excellent," Toran declared, "You may begin launching the second wave."

From the great prow of the Battle-barge streamed long lines of smaller craft, Stormhawk interceptors, Stormtalon ground attack craft and Thunderhawks bearing Dreadnoughts, Land Speeders, Land Raiders and Predators. These raced to be the first into the atmosphere, chasing the drop-pods in order to ensure the Astartes on the ground would have aerial and armoured support within minutes of their deployment.

Close behind them came Thunderhawk transporters laden with supplies and munitions, they travelled slower for they were more vulnerable in a combat zone, but their role was no less vital. Drop assaults consumed ammunition at a furious rate and the supplies being brought down would be essential should the battle last more than a few minutes. Though oft unsung, the humble actions of the Chapter's logistical support staff had meant the difference between victory and defeat in countless wars.

Toran watched this all happening from the bridge then ordered, "Deploy the third wave." Now a trio of much larger craft squeezed their way out of the landing bay, these were dedicated Space Marine Landing craft and they bore prefabricated buildings inside re-entry proof containers in their hydraulic claws. Between them the three landers carried everything a Battle-Company would need for an extended operation, including medical facilities, fully stocked armouries, barracks, plasma generators, garages and a small mobile chapel. A completely operational forward base of operations that would be set up upon the bones of the foe within one hour of the first Space Marine setting foot on the planet.

On the bridge Novak called, "Drop-sequence complete."  
Wrethan checked a chronometer and said, "Fifteen minutes: a perfect Codex deployment, the Emperor has smiled upon us."

Toran declared, "We are not done yet, Furion power up the engines and get us out of the way so the Troop Transports can commence their deployment. Plot a course back into high orbit; we still have unfinished business with the Orks."


	8. Chapter 8

**Ancra Mortis: Chapter 8**

The Light of Terra shuddered as it strove to come about, the vast Battle barge fighting its own inertia to bring its prow onto a new heading. The mighty vessel was a redoubtable weapon of war, designed to wade through the worst the galaxy could throw at it, but the trade-off was that she was far from being manoeuvrable. The problem was compounded by the fact that in space no manoeuvre is more time consuming or energy intensive than directly reversing course. Sheer inertia defeats any dreams of spacecraft pirouetting in the void, as a child's Holovid would proclaim.

Given the speed and vectors involved it was far faster to send the Light of Terra completely round the planet and bring her up from around the other side, making the planet's gravity work for the vessel rather than against it. On her bridge Captain Toran was watching the various displays as the stars wheeled in the Hololith and the shining orb of Glaeba fell away behind her keel. He was struggling to not let his impatience show but he was gripping the command rail tightly and muttering "Come on, come on, how long does this take?"

Apothecary Memnos heard his frustration and said quietly so the crew would not hear, "She's no Strike Cruiser that's for sure."

Toran stated, "This is intolerable, brave men are fighting and dying while we run circles around the planet."

It was Wrethan who said, "You are concerned for the Averof but you should not be, she is a tough little ship and has an experienced commander, Mandas will not fall so easily."

Memnos looked at the Chaplain and said in a surprised tone of voice, "I have never heard you pay respects to someone outside the Chapter before; I thought you held all mortals in contempt."

Wrethan replied, "Frankly I have become accustomed to mortal's weakness and consistent failures, but this Captain has proved reasonably competent. Perhaps we should consider recruiting him into the ranks of our serfs, his skills would be a valuable asset to the Chapter."

Now Toran smiled grimly and said, "I suspect the only way anyone will ever get him off the bridge of that ship is when they pack him into his coffin and eject his cold body into space."

For long minutes they watched the Hololith spin as the Light of Terra dragged itself back out into deep space, the plasma engines flaring as they struggled to push the ship faster. Finally the Battle barge was heading the right way and as they came around the horizon the distant battle scene was visible, rising above the Terminus like a meteor shower sparkling in the dark. The Hololith automatically processed the Auspex feeds and presented a wireframe representation of the battle, of the two pugilists duelling in the dark. Toran instantly processed the sight and his mind recreated the fight in minute detail, the Maw a'Gork was firing manoeuvring jets wildly in a vain attempt to come about and engage the Imperial cruiser. The Averof for her part was having none of it, using her far greater manoeuvrability to keep right in the Ork's stern and sticking there like a burr to an animal's fur. Toran could see the cruiser spinning and wheeling in the void with a grace only an escort vessel should possess, keeping right behind the Battleship where they could not be targeted by the main gunz.

Toran said, "He's doing it, as long as the Averof stays in the Ork's rear they can't target her."

Memnos commented, "Serves them right for putting all their Gunz on the front, that brute is like a horned Grox, dangerous to stand in front of but helpless if you can get behind it."

Wrethan though pointed out the flaw in the man's plan, "Look at the Averof's power curves, she's put all her energy into manoeuvring systems, slowing down her rate of fire. With half her guns slagged there is no way Mandas can break through their shields, all he can do is annoy the Orks and a single mistake will see him ripped to shreds."

"Then let us do something about that" Toran declared, "Jediah, load all guns batteries and prepare shooting solutions. Furion take us into the fight but for Throne's sake keep us out of the reach of her guns." With a rumble the Light of Terra leapt forwards, seeming almost eager for the fray, she dove towards the distant pair of battling ships like a thrown spear and was just as deadly.

As the Battle barge closed the Hololith pedestal flared and Captain Mandas appeared and barked, "About bloody time, I thought we would be dodging this beast all day long, I dread to think what all this dancing is doing to my old girl's superstructure!"

Toran replied, "Hold on just a little longer, we are almost in guns range, then we will slaughter this brute."

Mandas nodded and his image looked away as he directed his own bridge leaving Toran to watch as the Maw a'Gork slowly came into the arc of his ship's guns. It seemed to take an eternity but finally they were lined up and the Captain ordered, "Shoot!"

The Light of Terra erupted with plumes of discharging weapons, the entire flank of the great vessel sprouting towers of searing light. The salvo crossed the void in moments and impacted along the Ork's spine, blowing out the shields and smashing into the hull. Armour parted and compartments vented as the rounds tore into it but the titanic monster carried on regardless.

On the bridge Persion called, "Enemy vessel hit, but damage is minimal, we only stung her."

Toran grimaced and said, "Then we need to get closer… much, much closer."

The Light of Terra heaved to and brought itself right across the stern of the Ork battleship, great cannons gleaming as she ploughed into knife fight range. The Orks tried to break away but they were even less manoeuvrable than the Battle barge and could not stop her crossing the T and firing right into their exposed engine cowls. This time the fusillade ripped right into her engine blocks to tear terrible gouges into her hull, which streamed plasma and other less pure substances. Toran saw the wounds on the foe and cried, "Fire Bombardment cannons!" The enormous turrets on the battle barge's spine lined up then as one spat deadly Magma-bombs right into the flaming rear of the Ork ship. The munitions penetrated armour as effortlessly as they would a city's streets and ploughed deeply within the vessel, then they exploded in mammoth balls of light. Debris and plasma spewed into the void as the engines haemorrhaged energy, then they stuttered and fell dead.

The Ork ship lurched in space as its engines died and it went into a slow spin, drifting helplessly without power. There was no final dramatic explosion, no epic flash of light and destruction, just a slowly drifting corpse left to freeze in the cold dark of space. Doubtless many Orks survived within, but without power they were helpless to move or to fight, the Maw a'Gork had been reduced to a drifting hulk that the Imperials could pick off at their leisure. On the bridge the crew erupted in cheers and songs of rejoicing, the victory once so fraught and unsure now looked as if it had never been in doubt. The serfs cried their victory to the rafters while the Space Marines rattled their gauntlets upon their chest plates in a triumphant beat.

Through the noise Toran smiled and called out, "Two down, one to go. Persion what is the status of the last Ork ship?"

Persion bent to the comms stations for a moment then called out, "Spetsai signals that the BigHamma is running out her engines and burning for deep space. Lieutenant-Commander Grenfeld regrets to report that they cannot stop her; the last Ork Kroozer is going to escape. "

Toran was incensed by the thought that any Greenskin would flee after all the noble blood that had been shed this day and he snarled, "The hell they are, plot an intercept trajectory and take us after them!"

As the crew returned to their posts Furion called up from the helm, "Sir, even at maximum thrust the Orks have a significant edge over us, we simply can't match their acceleration."

Toran glanced at the vectors and saw that he was right, the Light of Terra could not keep pace with the fleeing Kroozer but he was loathe to give up the chase. He quickly reviewed the assets at his disposal, discounting the Thunderhawks which were badly depleted from the battles, there was only one option left open to them.

Before he could change his mind Toran opened his armour's vox link and called to his squads stationed aboard, "Battle brothers this is Captain Toran, all initiates are to report to the prow of the ship at once." Everybody looked at Toran askance but the Captain merely turned to the ordnance pulpit, "Novak, contact the Overseers of the forwards tubes and tell them I want a salvo of boarding Torpedoes made ready!"

Novak's face lit up with eagerness and he said, "Boarding torpedoes…. Yes sir!"

As the bridge crew hurried to prepare, Wrethan pounded one armoured fist into his gauntlet and snarled, "A boarding action, perfect, how I have longed to spill Xeno blood!"

He was to be cruelly disappointed when Apothecary Memnos said, "Stop right there, you are going nowhere."

Wrethan's face fell and he could only muster a feeble, "But… but"

Memnos was stern and unrelenting as he said, "In medical matters my word carries the authority of the Emperor himself, and I say you are not yet fit to fight. Your arm is still weak and your speed lacking, your presence now will slow the Company down."

Wrethan's face was a torturous grimace of conflicting emotions, stubborn refusal warring with resentment and the realisation of the horrible truth that the Apothecary was right. Toran had never seen him like this, for so long Wrethan had been a fierce, cantankerous mentor but now when the Captain looked at him all he saw was another brother, shamed at the thought of being left behind. Toran drew in a breath and said, "I agree with the Apothecary, you cannot come with us but not out of weakness."

Wrethan snapped around to face the Captain and he barked a little too fiercely, "What do you mean?"

Toran drew in a breath and said, "My Company are walking into peril and we may need fast, decisive leadership should the battle go ill. We need someone here who is prepared to make the hard calls should we fall, that is why you will remain behind."

Toran paused theatrically then stated, "And assume command of the fleet."

Wrethan's jaw dropped and he said incredulously, "Assume command?"

Toran nodded and said, "Yes and I need to know that should the Company fall you will not hesitate to do whatever is required to stop the Orks escaping."

Wrethan's face filled with pride at the responsibility, he nodded and held out his hand saying proudly, "You can count on me."

"I know I can" replied Toran gripping him wrist to wrist and then he led his men off the bridge.

As they walked Furion closed with the Captain and said, "Nicely done… but you do realise we are a half-strength Company going up against a ship full of Orks."

"You're right," said Toran pausing for a moment to think about it, then he hit his vox and contacted his Devastator Sergeant saying, "Zeax, before you go to the boarding torpedoes I need you to divert to the Armoury, there is something there I need you to collect."


	9. Chapter 9

**Ancra Mortis: Chapter 9**

Across the infinite depths of space two ships moved, the first was a ramshackle collection of scrap and gunz. It was built upon a far older frame but none who looked upon it would have recognised it, for it was an ugly assortment of parts and bodged plates that would have horrified any Tech-Priest with its lack of sanctity. It was the BigHamma and it was fleeing on a comet tail of plasma wash, putting the world of Glaeba behind it and not looking back.

In close pursuit followed a far smaller vessel, it was a torn and bloodied sight with long rips across its spine that revealed the ruptured compartments within. It was the Spetsai and the crippled Dauntless was chasing the fleeing Orks with all that it had. Occasionally flashes of lance fire would leap from its bow to rake the Greenskin's shields but alone the vessel lacked the power to do any real harm. Despite all its heroism the Imperial ship could not stop the Orks escaping. Had the situation remained as it was then the outcome of this conflict could never have been doubted, but a new force was about to enter the fray. From far behind the pair of combatants a flash of reflected light heralded the arrival of a half-dozen metal cylinders, moving far faster than either ship could hope to achieve. They were boarding torpedoes, filled with the deadliest warriors humanity possessed and they were on the hunt.

The BigHamma saw the threat approaching and greeted them with sprays of fire from its grid of point defence turrets, such as it was. Lines of tracers shot out into the dark, threading the darkness with tiny motes of light but the defence was sporadic and mostly ineffectual. Only one Torpedo was caught by the blasts and was rendered into a bloom of fire, but fortune smiled upon the attacker for it was a mere decoy, only two torpedoes actually held living souls. In moments the spread of missiles closed with the Ork ship and began their final assault run, spears of melta blasts shooting ahead of them to gouge away at the ship's thick armour. They impacted with force enough to shatter mortal spines as massive drill heads began chewing away at the weakened metal, the torpedoes clawing their way inside. Finally they came to rest before spraying quick setting foam all around, sealing off the escaping air.

Inside the BigHamma the torpedoes clinked as they cooled and then the drill heads lifted away to reveal the interior, they were filled with darkness but quickly armoured warriors poured out. They spread out with bolters raised looking for threats but found themselves in a deserted hold, bereft of enemies. Among the group was a Tactical squad under Sergeant Mylos along with Captain Toran's command squad as well as Apothecary Memnos. Toran surveyed their surroundings for a moment then opened his vox and said, "Group Two, report." Over the vox came a voice saying, "Sergeant Priyar reporting, I have Lorath and Zeax's squads with me, we have arrived with no causalities. Auspex says we are only two decks beneath you."

Toran was relieved to hear that and said, "Excellent, rendezvous with us as soon as possible, we need to link up and hit the Orks hard."

"Yes Sir," said Priyar, "Do we go forwards or backwards?"

Toran paused for half a heartbeat, the Codex Astartes dictated that the most vital areas on any ship were the bridge and the engineerium, but they lacked the forces to hit both simultaneously. The Captain made an instant decision and declared to all, "Forwards, we hit the bridge and kill the Warboss, Ork discipline shatters without their leader beast."

Instantly the squads broke up and moved out advancing in staggered waves, each group dashing under the cover of their brother's bolters before dropping to a knee and doing the same for their kin. Swiftly the assault group moved forwards, penetrating ever deeper into the ship and as they progressed Toran turned to Persion and said, "Have you managed to decode their vox net yet?"

Persion was a communication specialist and he replied, "Wasn't much to decode really, mostly its just grunts and shouting. They know we are here, Ork Boyz are sweeping the ship looking for us."

From beside him Jediah growled, "Good, I thought my blade would taste no blood on this mission."

Barely had the words left his mouth when the group barrelled into a party of Orks racing the other way, they were a motley collection of filthy brutes, covered in scraps of plate armour, spare pistols and trophy teeth, shorn hands and shiny bits. The Orks were grotesquely over muscled and everything about them screamed their savage nature, they were offensive parodies of the noble Astartes form but there were hundreds of them and they were charging right at the boarding party.

Immediately Toran yelled, "Overwatch, rapid fire!" and thunder erupted as every bolter let fly. A hurricane of mass reactive shells met the Orks head-on as they charged, blowing off limbs and opening chests in sprays of gore. Dozens of greenskins fell in the first salvo but the rest pressed on into the teeth of the incoming fire, stepping upon their dead and wounded with total disregard, even crushing to death some who may have lived. The corridor ahead filled wall to wall with green bodies and then with cleavers raised the Orks charged into combat crying, "Waaagh!" Instantly the Space Marines drew combat blades and leapt to meet them, hacking and slashing with furious abandon. It was a test of savagery, of which side could be the most brutal and ferocious, exactly the kind of fight at which Astartes excelled.

Toran was charged by a trio of Orks bearing gore-stained cleavers, they came at him in a frenzy of blows but the Captain was faster, drawing his relic blade to meet them with a wide slash. The legendary Sword of Thiel parted armour effortlessly and carved through metal plates, muscles and bone like damp parchment, leaving the Orks to collapse in piles of offal. Toran was stunned by his own feat and almost overbalanced, the last time he had fought Orks he had not been armed with so mighty a weapon and the ancient electromagnetic longsword surpassed anything he had wielded before.

With a proud shout the Captain leapt into the fray, hacking left and right and every blow took down an Ork as he waded through the fight like a man forcing a passage through a swift river. As he fought Toran could see his brothers hacking and stabbing the Orks with all their might, crushing the foe with relentless fury. He spied Furion wrestling an Ork with a long scar over one of its eyes, their hands struggling over a rusty cleaver as they fought for supremacy. Yet Furion would not be denied and between his own strength and the might of his Mark III plate he gained the edge and forced the blade backwards. Slowly he overpowered the Greenskin before driving its own blade into its heart.

In the heart of the melee Bylan was hacking left and right with a combat blade while blasting away with a bolt pistol, it was strange to see him without the Company Standard in hand, but on this mission such an encumbrance would be more hindrance than a help. Elsewhere Persion had drawn a red-hot friction axe and was cleaving Orks apart all around him, they tried to stop him but he shattered their crude weapons with his axe before smiting them with savage barks of rage. Beside him Jediah fought with a fractal edged short sword, his style was completely different, parrying expertly as he waited for an opening then stabbing opportunistically to tear out throats and pierce eyesockets.

As he fought on Toran heard a cry and saw Brother Kandar of Mylos' squad fall with a blade through his throat, he was avenged by Apothecary Memnos who leapt to stab his attacker in the back before the Ork could pull its blade back. Memnos turned his back on the foe and knelt to tend to harvest Kandar's gene-seed, performing his sacred duty even in the thick of combat. It fell to Novak to stand over him and guard the Apothecary as he worked, tearing apart any Ork with his Master crafted sword 'Honour's Edge'. There was a sublime grace to the Company Champion's movements, a smooth elegance to his kills that was completely at odds with the brutality of the Orks.

Toran saw that despite their overwhelming numbers the Orks were falling fast and the battle was slowly turning in the Astartes' favour but then another force came into play. From behind the Orks came righteous cries and the unmistakable sound of chainswords as a second party of marines barrelled into the fray. The horde parted and Toran saw Sergeant Priyar's forces entering the battle, with him were the Assault Marines of Sergeant Lorath, who fell upon the Ork's rearguard with lightning speed and Zeax's Devastators bringing up the rear. Toran seized the moment to cry, "Forwards brothers, for Terra and the memory of Roboute Guilliman!" as he hacked at the wall of green flesh. Furion followed him shouting, "No mercy, no respite, no fear!"

As one the Space Marines threw themselves forwards while the second group closed in, catching the Orks between them. Beset on both sides the Orks fell in droves and their courage shattered, they turned to flee but there was nowhere to run and not a single Greenskin survived the retribution of the Storm Heralds.

As silence fell Toran stood gasping for air as his transhuman biology fought to restore his equilibrium. The Captain nodded in gratitude to the newly arrived Sergeants but then gathered himself up, he refused to show weakness before his men and said, "Onward brothers, the bridge is beyond the next hatch."

Instantly the squads formed up, focussed and ready, all trace of banter was gone now war was upon them and each marine thirsted for the next fight. Toran raised his sword high and led them on down the corridor, passing through several hatches as they closed on the bridge. A handful of Orks confronted them en route but these were gunned down in short order. The combined force soon approached the bridge and as expected they saw it was the most heavily defended part of the ship. A long nave stretched away from them, bare and bereft of cover before abruptly ending in a massively reinforced hatch. Before the hatch were lines of fearsome Greenskins, dug in behind piles of debris and shorn metal spars. Scores upon scores of gunz pointed down the corridor, along with rokkets and Zzap guns, behind those were mobs of Boyz with Choppa's and serrated knives, waiting eagerly for the fray.

Persion saw the emplacement as they ran and shouted, "This is going to cost us!"

Toran realised that he was right and decided the time had come to play his trump card, he held up a clenched fist and every paused as he ordered, "Hold here Brothers and make way... Zeax, bring up your squad!" There was a few seconds delay and before the crump of heavy feet ringing on the deck plates rang out, a shadow falling over the waiting squads as truly massive forms loomed overhead.

Toran saw the Devastator squad advancing in massively augmented exoskeleton frames that wrapped their normal gear with thick ablative plates. Their arms bore the heaviest of weapons and upon their chests were multiple lines of bolters and grenades, while their legs had been reinforced with pistons to support the additional weight and their mass made the deck plates sag under the strain. These were the most ferocious of line breakers available to Astartes, offering protection and firepower that rivalled Terminator armour but was far more brutal in its application. Used only for the breaking of sieges or charging directly into the teeth of an embedded enemy position, this was the armour Astartes called upon when they intended not merely to break a foe but to shatter them utterly.

These were the Centurions, nine of them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ancra Mortis: Chapter 10**

With a thunder that shook the ship the Centurions began their run, heavy footfalls rattling deck plates and their looming form eclipsing the flickering lights. Their force and bulk were irresistible, their mass exceeding the largest of Orks, they were like an avalanche already in motion or an oncoming train bearing down on a trapped animal. Return fire pinged off their plates but Centurions had been designed to march into the fiercest of sieges and they brushed off the salvo with contemptuous disdain.

The Orks bellowed in bestial rage to see the Centurion's inexorable advance and redoubled their fire, flinging torrents of rokkets and bullets at the oncoming juggernauts. The ablative plates over the Space Marines' chest and legs were quickly cratered by impacts but the armour served its purpose and preserved the warriors beneath. On the barricades the Orks saw the futility of their efforts and resorted to a more drastic measure, parting to reveal a bulky Zzap gun mounted on a two-wheeled trailer. Under the direction of a shouting Mekboy the gun was dragged about before a Gretchin was kicked to pull the firing lever. It proved a wise precaution because poor insulation fed electricity right back into the handle and fried the Grot alive, but then the gun fired a sparking arc of green lighting.

The energy leapt the intervening distance and engulfed an oncoming Centurion, covering him in coruscating electrical energy that bored into the plate, chewing away ceramite and plasteel in seconds. The Centurion staggered as his exoskeleton failed and the Orks swiftly concentrated their fire, inundating him in bullets. A hundred rounds found their way into his flesh and the Space Marine fell, hitting the deck with a resounding clang. The Astartes were enraged to see one of their own fall and they responded in kind, three of the Centurions bore under-slung heavy bolters and hurricane bolters mounted to their chests and they opened fire with a snap of thunder to spray the Ork defences with a torrent of mass reactive shells. The Orks were forced to duck as their barricades fell apart and the returning fire slackened off.

Instantly the Centurions redoubled their pace, closing with unstoppable might and as they closed in the five other Centurions raised their arms. They unleashed pairs of flamers, sweeping the barricades with plumes of incinerating heat, Ork flesh broiled and Grots were set alight, flailing wildly before falling down. The Greenskins wailed in horror but the Centurions were not done yet, at the last second frag grenades on their chest exploded outwards, spraying the Orks with shrapnel at the exact moment the Centurions hit home.

The juggernauts ripped right through the barricades as if they weighed nothing and then huge, spinning siege drills were carving into green flesh, eviscerating everything within reach. Any other foe would have been shattered instantly but Orks responded with bestial fury, throwing themselves at the Astartes in a frenzy of stabbing hatchets and cleaving choppas. Their attacks were savage and brutal, backed by inhuman strength, ferocity and an insane stubborn refusal to admit defeat.

It didn't matter.

The Centurions slaughtered everything they hit, slamming their siege drills into the surrounding Orks to rip and tear and gouge. Nothing could stand against them, nothing could deny their advance and all they targeted fell in steaming chunks of offal. Showers of gore and blood sprayed everywhere and the Centurions' noble colours were swiftly obscured by filthy Xeno entrails. Meanwhile the rest of the boarding party had not been idle, racing forwards the second they saw the Orks defensive fire slacken off. Toran was at their head, holding his relic blade aloft as he cried, "Follow me brothers, show them your fury!"

With a righteous cry the Space Marines fell upon the broken Ork formation, massacring the Greenskins left and right. Caught between two foes the fight should have been one-sided and ended in moments but the moment the first blade fell there was an earth-shaking rumble and the great hatch to the bridge split down the middle to create a wide aperture. From the gap poured an immense wave of fresh Orks, racing into the melee, screaming at the top of their lungs. Toran saw the reinforcements cascading out of the bridge and knew the pivotal moment had come, the Orks were throwing everything they had at the Space Marines so surely the Warboss must be here. Even as he fended off a crude Choppa he scanned the crowd, then he spotted one Ork bigger than all the rest. It was a massive dark-skinned brute, clad in what looked like a shattered suit of Cataphratii Terminator armour and holding a vicious hook in each hand that crackled with coruscating energy.

Toran shouted, "The warboss is here!" as he began hacking a path to the towering monster, his command squad followed in his wake, forming an arrowhead of blue in a sea of green. The Ork leader saw them coming and bellowed an ear-splitting roar that sprayed spittle over its fellows, it held out one sparking hook at Toran as a challenge and shouted, "Dat one's Mine!"

Instantly the crowd of Orks parted, instinctively recognising the right of Challenge between two leaders, it was a creed that went beyond species barrier, a rite that was universal in its application. Toran saw the path open to the beast and strode forwards, waving his command squad back. Novak twitched, for as Company Champion he could stand in the Captain's place, but Toran had been held back from battle too long and he wanted the kill himself so he stilled his brother with a shake of the head. The Ork roared furiously and clashed its hooks together over its head to spray green sparks of energy into the air. Toran for his part raised the Sword of Thiel upright before his eyes, not honouring his foe but the spirit of his weapon and praying it would prove true once more. Then the pair of combatants leapt at each other.

The Ork came at Toran with a flurry of attacks from its pair of hooks, Toran parried with the long blade of his sword, keeping it at bay with a series of deft deflections. The strength of the Ork numbed his arm and its speed was remarkable but Toran had duelled Chaos Lords and Archons and knew well how to fight a better opponent. He angled his blade so that the next blow glanced past, pulling the Ork off balance and then he swept around to tear the tip of his blade across its shoulder. Plates parted and Toran saw gunmetal grey armour, doubtlessly torn from a traitorous Iron Warrior, stained by thick Xeno blood.

The Ork bellowed in anger and pain from the wound, in a flash it barrelled forwards, using its bulk as a weapon. Toran was caught off guard by the unexpected move and was thrown backwards; even as he stumbled the Ork's hooks swept low and carved into his belly armour. Toran's Iron Halo flared but only slowed the blow and the hook tore into his belly, armour parted and blood flowed freely leaving his insides bleeding profusely and his intestines an inch from falling out. The Captain fell back desperately as his guts burned, waves of heat building within his torso as Toran's gene-enhanced physique flooded his wound with Larraman's cells to form thick scabs. The Ork laughed to see his injury and raised its hooks in triumph, glorying in the bloodshed and that was when Toran saw its weakness.

Slowly the Captain lowered his blade until the tip touched the floor, the Ork frowned in confusion at the move but then its thirst for bloodshed overcame its caution and it charged forwards, hooks extended for the kill. Toran let it come, not even trying to parry but then at the last second he spun to the right. Agony flared within his guts as his wound pulled open but he mastered it, riding the torment and using the fire to dodge the Ork and as he did so he kicked out at the back of the beast's exposed knee.

The blow would have shattered human bone, it would have caved in plasteel and dented ceramite but all it did to the Ork was make it stumble, yet that was enough. The Ork was off balance for a heartbeat and as it tried to turn about to face the Captain, Toran's blade was coming right at it, stabbing the point into its face and penetrating right out the other side. The Ork stood still for a moment as its body registered that it was dead, then Toran withdrew his blade and the beast fell backwards to clang loudly off the deck. With their leader dead the courage of the Orks snapped and they turned to run. They did not get far for the Space marines chased them with sweeps of bolter fire, gunning them down from behind as they fled.

Toran was bent over almost double, leaning upon his sword even as his implanted organs sought to close his wounds and restore his vitality. Yet the Captain knew he could not let his Marines see any weakness and forced himself upright, even though he felt like death warmed up. He swayed a little but held himself upright and looked upon the battlefield, seeing Green corpses everywhere and a pair of blue armoured bodies that he had not seen fall. Toran was about to order his men onto the bridge but Persion suddenly interrupted saying "Captain, there is a signal, I think you will want to hear this."

The Vox crackled and a distant tinny voice came through saying, "Damn it all, can you hear me? I repeat, this is Chaplain Wrethan calling boarding party, can you hear me?"

Toran opened his link and said, "Chaplain Wrethan this is Captain Toran, we hear you."

Wrethan's voice came back, "Thank the Divine Emperor, Captain you are in grave peril, you must evacuate the ship at once!"

Toran was shocked for he had never thought to hear those words from Wrethan and said, "Evacuate, but victory is within our grasp!"

Wrethan replied, "Toran you do not understand, we are detecting massive power surges, the Orks have activated their Warp engines, that ship is about to plunge into the immaterium."

It was a stunning revelation and Persion butted in to say, "This far inside a stellar system, are they mad, the ship will be torn asunder!"

Toran declared, "We will seize the bridge and stop it."

Wrethan sadly replied, "You can't, the sequence has already begun, that ship is entering the Warp regardless. Remember the holy Codex, the blessed Primarch repeatedly warned against vainglorious last stands and bloody charges to no purpose, to press on now would serve nothing but hollow pride. Captain I know you don't want to leave but you yourself said a commander must make the hard calls, you have done all you can, now you must preserve your forces for the next battle."

Toran was torn, to retreat now went against every instinct and all his training but the truth was undeniable, to press on now would be to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. He looked at his Marines and saw the determination and ambition in their eyes, they wanted the fight to continue, to claim the glory. Toran understood that urge all too well but he could not afford such luxuries, this was why a Captain could not be a friend to his men for he had to make the choice between the correct course of action, or the popular one. Toran drew in a breath and said between gritted teeth, "Fall back to the boarding torpedoes, we are evacuating."

The squads gasped and Jediah said in shock, "Retreat, with victory within our grasp?!"

Toran rebuked him by saying, "The warboss is dead and Orks are beaten, I will not throw away the Emperor's warriors for hollow pride. Fall back by squads and collect our dead, I will not see them left for greenskin looters, that is an order."

The Space Marines were far too disciplined to protest outwardly but to another Transhuman their stiffness and the tightness of their grips spoke volumes, Toran knew he had lost much of the affection of his Marines but that was the price of his authority. To set a good example Toran was the first to turn his back upon the Orks and set off back to the boarding Torpedoes, his squads lifting their dead upon their shoulders and falling back.

The Orks were beaten and that would have to be enough for one day.


	11. Chapter 11

**Ancra Mortis: Chapter 11**

In the haunted nightmarish depths of the Warp a vessel moved, it was a filthy ramshackle creation, rent and torn all over and drifting aimlessly on the Immaterial tides. It was the BigHamma and it was a terrible sight to behold. Making Warp Translation so deep into a star's gravity well had been a risky move and the ship had suffered terribly under the strain, but against all expectations the vessel had survived its reckless plunge into the madness of the Underverse. Now it drifted free and clear of pursuit.

The vessel was surrounded by the flickering bubble of a Gellar field, pulsing and shorting out due to poor maintenance. Such a state should have seen the Kroozer ripped to shreds by hungry Daemons but the Neverborn were largely ignoring it, all but the smallest dregs steering well clear of the ship. Perhaps it was the innate psychic field generated by Waaagh energy or perhaps it was the simple brutality of the Greenskin's minds, (there was no innocence here to corrupt, no naivety to exploit) so the Daemons largely ignored the canker in their midst.

On the ship's bridge the Orks were running rampant, screaming and yelling and hitting each other as they sought to assign blame for their defeat. Boyz fell upon each other as they punched and kicked one another, meanwhile Grots ran to and fro kicking fallen Orks but running away hastily if they showed any sign of waking up. It was pure anarchy, the inevitable result of the Ork's mindset following a battle as their ferocity sought a release, unfortunately it was also wrecking the bridge and the most vital controls. In the centre of the bedlam Kaptin Razatoof was growling furiously at the sight, growing ever angrier at the noise. He gnashed his one massive steel-clad fang in anger, then in frustration he drew a large bore pistol and fired it up into the air. This had absolutely no effect on the Orks so he levelled his pistol horizontally and began firing it into the crowd, felling greenskins with surprisingly precise shots.

After the first few died the Orks noticed the Kaptin's ire and slowly came to a halt, stepping over the bodies to see what their leader had to say. Razatoof gave them a beady eyed stare and proclaimed, "Knock it off ya Gits!"  
One of the crowd piped up to say, "But Kaptin we iz in da twisty space!"

Razatoof shrugged and said, "Twisty space ain't so bad, sometimes you get dose big hulks full of grubbins. If you'ze real lukky you even get some of those skittering bugs to fight."  
Behind the Kaptian the mekboy Nutgud stepped up and said, "As long as the reality field retains coherence within standard parameters the immaterial index should remain within acceptable limits."

Everybody stared at Nutgud in confusion before he hit himself on the side of the head and said, "Da bubble is gud and sturdy, no gribbly snappers will gets in here… unless we'ze getz bored and fancies a fight a'course."

Razatoof glossed over the interruption saying, "Yeah and remember dat time da big thingy with all dose tentacles an eyes all over it came along an gobbled up Shabug, took fifty Boyz to hack it into bits." The Orks nodded in remembrance and a few in the crowd made comments like, "Oh yeh, dat were a Larf... Da look on Shabug's face was dead funny... Think i've still got one of its eyes in me pocket."

Razatoof saw the crowd warming up and egged them on saying, "Remember that time we was in twisty space and ran into that big mouldering garden with all the flies and the big pots full 'a muck. We beat up those rotten, one eyed thingies and stole all the fungus beer!"

Now the crowd was really getting into it and they grinned saying, "Dat place stank and da beer tasted like Grot's piss... yeah, but still a gud fight." Someone at the back of the crowd even said, "I swears I saws an elfy gal locked up in a shiny cage dere… anyone else sees it? No... just me den."

Razatoof fired them up shouting, "We iz da Orks and we always win!" and they cheered to hear the words. The crowd's good humour was punctured though when a voice rose up saying, "We stills runs away from a fight." Razatoof glared into the crowds and the Orks parted to reveal the speaker, it was Zakkad, standing there with a new, large mechanical arm that had two massive pincers which continually opened and closed whether he wanted them to or not.

Razatoof glared angrily at Zakkad and growled, "You'ze got someting to say?"  
Zakkad stared back defiantly and said, "You said to leave Big Boss Rotskarr to dem Beakies"  
Razatoof waved a hand dismissively and said, "Rotskarr's a Berk, we don'ts need him. Besides remember Rule three: Always makes sure to gets away with da Bestest loot."

The crowd nodded but Zakkad didn't seem convinced, yet before he could pursue the matter the issue was interrupted by a gang of Ork coming onto the bridge. On their shoulders was a lumpy shape of metal and flesh and they marched up to Razatoof and unceremonially dumped the form at his feet, it was Skulcrusha in his armour. The gang fell back, one of them nonchalantly chewing on a bleeding finger he had ripped off the body. Razatoof looked down upon the body for a second then angrily kicked it hard shouting, "Useless prat, I told's him to hold up the Beakies while I'z makin da jump but he goes and gets himself dead and let dem Beakies runs away!"

Nutgud looked at the body and said, "Unfortunate, once one traverses the interdimensional matrix then exit from the interior is extremely perilous."  
Without looking Razatoof swung his palm round and cuffed the Mekboy across the head, Nutgud blinked and then said, "Dey be stuck here with us, a dead proper fight."

From the crowd Zakkad called, "Looks like you forgets Rule Two, When you Zog em, Zog em good and 'ard."  
Razatoof's head snapped up and he snarled, "What was dat?"

Zakkad glared back defiantly and said, "You sends Skulcrusha to fight instead of you, you'ze gone and left Rotskarr behind whiles you run away. You iz Yella."  
Razatoof shouted, "Rite, dats it!" as he drew a cleaver and leapt at the defiant Ork who met him with his pincer raised. The two Orks came at each other in a frenzy of stabs and slashes, each tearing and ripping each other's flesh in showers of blood. Their skin was quickly smeared with filthy blood but neither seemed to notice, the pain not registering on their primitive brains and the physical damage only making them faster. Razatoof had size and strength on his side but Zakkad had a feral cunning and his mechanical pincer that continually snipped and tore at the Kaptin's flesh.

After a minute the two combatants broke apart and sized each other up, circling around looking for an opening to attack again. Meanwhile all around the bridge the crowd of Orks started chanting, "Fight, fight, fight, fight, fight!"  
Zakkad glanced about and said, "I alwayz say three rules iz too many, Rule one and Rule two iz enough, dats why you got weak."  
Razatoof snarled furiously and grolwed, "Shut up and fight, ya grot."

The two leapt back into the fray, tearing and gouging once more, Razatoof cut across Zakkad's chest with his cleaver but the other Ork caught him in the shoulder with his pincer and the clashing blades nearly tore his whole arm off. The Kaptin fell back holding his cleaver in his good arm as the crowd started chanting, "Zakkad, Zakkad, Zakkad!"

Zakkad raised his arms high to absorb their adulation but Razatoof was not done yet, he dropped his cleaver and then gathered himself up, charging right at the mutinous Ork and bunching his legs for one mighty leap. Zakkad saw him coming and prepared to stab him but before he could strike the Kaptin jumped high with his good arm outstretched and barrelled into the other greenskin. He wrapped his beefy arm around Zakkad and held on one-handed. The two Orks stood there for a moment and then Razatoof lowered his jaw, distending his mouth in a grotesque manner, until his jaw hung vertically and then he head-butted Zakkad. The force of it snapped his head back but far more dangerous was the Kaptin's enormous, steel shod fang. With a sharp snick, the fang went right into Zakkad's eye and on into his brain and the Ork went deathly still.

Silence fell then Razatoof pushed off the corpse and dropped to his feet as the body fell backwards. The crowd stood frozen in shock then as one they erupted in cheers and the Orks shouted, "Razatoof, Razatoof, Razatoof!" The Kaptin let the cheers continue for a moment as his bizarre physiology began knitting his wound together, fungal growths formed scabs over the rent in his shoulder and then he called, "Rite, knock it off ya gits, gets back to work."

As the crowd broke up Razatoof looked at the two bodies on the decks, smaller grots had already fallen upon the bodies and were stripping them for all they were worth. Razatoof watched them squabbling over shiny bits and scraps of armour and then he addressed one random larger Ork saying, "Hey you, get dat shiny amour on, your Skulcrusha now."  
The Ork looked confused and said, "But Kaptin, im Ard'ead."  
Razatoof snarled, "Your Skulcrusha if I says your Skulcrusha, now gets dressed snappish like."

As the Ork hurried to strip the Mega-armour Nutgud walked up behind the Kaptin and said, "So wut now?"  
Razatoof thought about it and then said, "Get your arse up to the Weird Boyz and tells them to point us back to choppy space, we'ze head back to pick up some more Boyz and gets us a proper Waaagh!"

Nutgud nodded and said, "Heads back to the Serrati Stella, aye aye Kaptin."  
Razatoof leaned down and hit a grot who had just ripped off one of Zakkad's dead arms at the elbow, the gretchin collapsed in a bloody heap and the Kaptin grabbed the arm before he lifted it to his mouth took a big mouthful and chewed upon it.

Between chews he said, "Orks is never beat in battle… if we win we win, if we die we die fighting so it don't count… If we runz we don't die neither so we'ze can come back for annuver go, see."  
"But Kaptin" protested Nutgud, "Wat 'bout Rule two?"

Razatoof swallowed his mouthful and then let out a massive stinking belch and said, "Ah forget about dat… besides when you'ze tink bout it da rules iz really more of a guideline."


	12. Chapter 12

**Ancra Mortis: Chapter 12**

The formal dining room was filled to capacity, men in naval uniforms sitting around long tables and talking at the top of their lungs as various dishes were brought out to them and the wine flowed freely. The room was located deep within the bowels of the Averof and it was an archaic recreation of proto-history, the decorative roof beams had been carved into a replica of an ancient wooden sailing ship's keel and oil burning lamps hung above to give an atmospheric effect. The walls were decorated with oil-paintings of famous ships of the Imperial Navy: the Lord of Light, Fist of Adamant, Hammer of Scaro, His Will, Divine Right and the Lord Solar Macharius to name but a few.

Sitting at the wide tables were a collection of senior and junior naval officers, flight officers, senior doctors, ship's clergy, commissars and most unusually a handful of Space Marines in deep blue robes. This was the victory dinner in the Captain's mess, a naval tradition that predated Mankind's journey to the stars and to refuse attendance would have been the gravest of dishonours.

Sitting at the high table Toran was surveying the room, taking it all in with his augmetic eye. Technically, as this had been an Astartes-led mission, he could have hosted the dinner but somehow he doubted the navy men would have appreciated his Chapter's fare. Nourishing as it was the tailored, chemically-laced Synthi-gruel the Initiates were fed lacked something in flavour. It was a running joke among the brothers that the Ceramite repair paste they used to patch up their armour was more palatable, so Toran had tactfully agreed to let Captain Mandas host the victory dinner.

Toran was sitting in blue robes, feeling exposed without his thick ceramite plates and his hands itched to be so far from his weapons. Toran looked down at his plate which held a thick slab of braised meat, perhaps it was a delicacy but the Captain had barely taken a few mouthfuls. It was not common knowledge but among an Astartes' many organs was the Omophagea, which allowed them to absorb genetic information via ingestion. Now his implants were telling Toran far more about his meal's life and instincts than he wished to know, so the Captain was merely picking at a few root vegetables on his plate.

Toran looked around the room and saw his command squad scattered about, each of them looming over their dinner companions and disturbing the conversations by their mere presence. Toran had invited his squad as a diplomatic gesture, but seeing how awkwardly they were faring among mortals, he was starting to seriously regret bringing them. On one table Bylan was drawing horrified stares, without his armour the sheer mass of augmetics built into his chest and throat were exposed and his companions seemed to be put off their dinner by the sight. Bylan himself was taking it stoically but Toran could see how uncomfortable he was by the glances and whispers all around him.

Elsewhere Novak was using a table knife to demonstrate fencing techniques to a pale-faced junior Astrogation officer, the man looked terrified by the steel flashing an inch before his eyes and he dared not move a muscle. Yet in all the decades Toran had known him, he had never seen the Champion slip once and he knew that the man was perfectly safe.

Meanwhile Furion seemed to have got into a confrontation with an Ecclesiarchy priest, given the acrimonious history between the Storm Heralds Chapter and the religious branch of the Imperium this was hardly surprising. The Priest seemed to be taking the opportunity to vent his grievance on the Sergeant; yet Furion was sitting utterly silent with his hands laced before him, staring unerringly at the tonsured man. The Priest was trying to work up to a frothing tirade but he was being distracted by the relentless, unblinking stare and he kept forgetting his point, stammering and blustering pathetically as Furion's gaze bored into him.

On another table Jediah was tucking into his meal with gusto, seeming to not share Toran's dislike for the meat. Toran had always found Jediah to be a bloodthirsty Marine but this was just disturbing, he actually seemed to be enjoying the experience with relish and had a Chaplain been present he would have just earned himself a week of penance for gluttony. Persion leaned over from his own seat and Toran's Lyman's ear effortlessly cut through the hubbub to hear him say, "How can you eat that muck?"

Jediah growled, "I'm hungry, but I will admit this slop is not as appetising as Ork brains."

Persion shook his head and said, "Then maybe you should have filled up while we were on the Greenskin's ship."

Jediah shrugged, something one could not do in power armour, as he said, "There was no time to stop for a snack while we were there."

As their table companions turned green Toran returned his attention to his own plate, pushing the meat about with a fork, hardly believing he would ever miss a bowl of Synthi-gruel. From his side a voice spoke up saying, "Not enjoying that?"

Toran looked at the speaker and saw it was Commander Grenfeld, the officer had been rewarded for valour under fire by a promotion and a seat at the high table. It was a prestigious reward for any officer, but that was not the biggest surprise, the most startling thing was that Grenfeld was a woman. She was a stern-faced individual with a high collar and a pinched narrow face, her hair was bound up in a tight bun and traces of grey that hinted she would soon be in need of her first Juvenant treatment.

Toran knew that the Imperial Navy was notoriously hidebound and patriarchal, so women in the service either wilted under the prejudice or developed nerves of steel and spines of compressed Adamantium. There were few women in high positions, but those who had risen had risen high indeed and Grenfeld had a look in her eye that proclaimed she would go far. Grenfeld was talking again saying, "That's prime Carnodon meat, our valiant Commissar Kaath-Dousmanis boasts that he tracked it down over a three-day hunt and it shot himself."

Toran looked further down the table and saw a man sitting in the uniform of a chief Commissar, with a red sash and a ridiculously decorated Chainsword, worn to a formal occasion as was the discipline master's right. The Captain took him in with a glance, seeing the softness of his un-calloused hands and the lack of muscle tone in his arms, Toran instantly deduced that the man had never swung his Chainsword outside of the practice cages.

He was doubtlessly a blood relation to the great Lord Admiral Dousmanis and Toran concluded that the Commissar had gained his prestigious rank via his family connections rather than merit. Toran could well believe Kaath-Dousmanis had shot the animal in question, his Neuroglottis was telling him that the meat was too fat to have ever lived in the wild and that it was chemically tainted with opiates. The man may have pulled the trigger but the beast had certainly been heavily sedated beforehand and probably spent its whole life in a pen.

Toran was saved from making an undiplomatic comment as Georgios Mandas leaned over from the head of the table and said, "I understand congratulations are in order, I hear your Chapter has claimed the head of the Ork warboss on Glaeba."

Toran was grateful for the distraction and said, "Yes, Captain Jossat personally claimed the head of this Rotskarr, another triumph for the Imperium. The Orks hordes are already breaking up and being driven into the mountains, we estimate the crisis will be reduced to manageable levels within twelve days."

Grenfeld interjected, "Then you will not be staying?"

Toran replied, "No, the Emperor's wars call us away, the Tyranid front is advancing upon the Saint Karyl Trail and our strength is desperately needed. Once the Orks are broken we will leave their eradication to the Guard."

Mandas declared, "I think the crews of the troop ships will be glad to hear that, ever since you gave that Chaplain a taste of command he's been making their lives a merry hell."

Grenfeld commented, "You would not believe the number of complaints the vox operators have processed, it almost rivals the number of demands your Chaplain has sent to have the crews flogged."

Mandas joked, "If I didn't know better, I would swear your man's actually enjoying himself."

Toran chuckled and said, "It is good to see him in such fine spirits, but what of yourselves, where are you going next?"

Mandas drew in a breath and said, "Nowhere, for now, both the Averof and the Spetsai took a mauling and are badly need of a refit. We will stay over Glaeba and provide orbital fire support until a Mechanicus Forge ship can be rerouted to tend to our wounds."

Toran nodded and said, "I am sure they won't keep you in the rear for long, the Imperium desperately needs men like you at the front Georgios."

Mandas took the compliment and said, "I thank you but we will need fresh command crews sent to us first, the Navy lost too many good men in this battle. Why my own executive officer was promoted only yesterday to take command of the Spetsai, leaving me without a Number One."

Toran frowned and said, "The Spetsai, but what of Grenfeld?"

Grenfeld snorted and said, "Not bloody likely" as she resentfully bit down on a chunk of braised Carnodon.

Mandas qualified that statement saying, "The Lieutenant-Commander here did exceptionally well to take charge at such a critical juncture, but that is not enough to earn a ship command in and of itself. There is a long, long line of men with higher connections waiting for ships to become available."

Toran picked at a tuber on his plate and commented, "But surely some reward is warranted?"

Mandas said, "Actually I was thinking of offering her the post of the First Officer on board the Averof."

Grenfeld spluttered on her mouthful and swallowed half of it in surprise, Toran had to suppress a grin at the sight as she turned bright red and frantically grabbed a mug of water. He knew Mandas was boisterous by nature and suspected that he had deliberately held his remark until her mouth was full. It was a big promotion for the officer but Toran was certain it was deserved, Mandas had an eye for talent and would not promote someone who could not handle it.

The statement caused a stir of conversation around the high table and from further along Toran heard Commissar Kaath-Dousmanis mutter something about Grenfeld keeping the Captain's bed warm, but the Astartes didn't understand that logic. Surely a First Officer's role would be too important to include menial laundry duties, the Space Marine made a mental note to track down the Commissar later on and press him for details on the matter. Meanwhile Grenfeld was coughing furiously to clear her throat while Mandas was waving a callow ensign forward, who bore a corked bottle. The man took the bottle as he said, "Now I believe we have a wager to settle, may I present you with this Gorsk white Gyn, bottled in 925.M41. It may be little coarse, but with your metabolism I doubt anything thinner would even touch the sides."

Toran held up a hand and a servitor stepped up with another bottle as the Captain proclaimed, "My gratitude, but I believe it is we who owe you. May I gift you with this bottle of ceremonial wine from our Reliquary, it is older than any man here."

Mandas smiled but said, "I'm afraid by my count the Light of Terra claimed more kills than the Averof."

Toran replied warmly, "Ah, but without you and your ship the Light of Terra would not be here, and neither would I."

Mandas smiled and said, "Then let us not call it a wager but an exchange of gifts between friends."

Toran nodded and as the respective wines were poured, "My Chapter is glad to count you among our allies."

Mandas stood and raised his glass, the room paused and everyone raised their glasses as he said, "A toast then, to stalwart friends."

Toran raised his own glass and proclaimed, "To brotherhood, may it forever bring us victory."


	13. Chapter 13

_Presenting a teaser for an upcoming story Saeva Abyssi_

 **Somewhere, Somewhen**

There was no such thing as silence in Commorragh, the dark city rang eternally with the screams and wails of the damned, the eternal chorus of pain and torment filling the air with discordant tones. This was the basic state of the Dark Eldar, the strong preying upon the weak for their own bitter amusements and the sustenance to endure the greater horror that waited for them all beyond the veil of reality. Yet today the sounds were different, today it was not the music of the strong preying upon the weak that sang forth but of the weak attacking the strong and winning.

Many eyes, belonging to many different types of being, turned to witness this strange occurrence, seeking the odd note that was souring their bitter harmonies. What they found was a towering black stronghold that rose above the lesser spires, it was covered in spikes, ornate murals and frescos which portrayed unspeakable acts of depravity. This was not just some ornate folly though, for its spires hid cunningly concealed weapon emplacements and the lower levels held barracks, training grounds and combat arenas for hundreds of warriors.

This was the home of the Sundered Lance Kabal, an ancient dynasty that could trace its origins back to the founding of the New Order and whose oldest members could even remember a time before the rise of Asdrubael Vect. The Sundered Lance was one of the prime Kabals in Commorragh, a powerhouse who had endured the rise and fall of lesser pretenders and been responsible for the destruction of many of them. They had been proud, arrogant and superior, as befits a mighty Kabal but today they were the ones burning.

Their great stronghold was in flames, black explosions rising continually from its upper reaches as bodies fell like rain from the heights and laughing Hellions made strafing runs on its battlements. On every level battle raged, woefully outmatched Warriors fighting to the last, but they were consistently and repeatedly outmanoeuvred by invaders who seemed to know their every move before they made it. Time and again the invaders would section off knots of defenders and cut them down in droves, the conquerors showing no mercy and bearing the icon of the Impaled Heart Kabal.

Hovering high above the battle was a Tantalus skiff, cruising serenely above the violence and drinking in the torments from afar. It seemed oddly delicate and vulnerable to be exposed so, but nothing came near it, every shot going wide and every Hellion steering well clear. Standing on its deck were a pair of beings, riding high on the fires of victory and flushed from hard fighting.

The first being was tall and clad in purple armour that glistened like wet blood, he had a gore-smeared sword in one gloved hand and his heart was racing with exhilaration. His name was Athra J'rect and he was Archon of the Impaled Heart Kabal, killer of the innocent, scourge of the stars and architect of this destruction.

Close behind him stood another warrior, this one in close form-fitting armour and with a large two-hand Klaive slung over his shoulder that dripped fresh blood. His name was Dramaq and he was the chief of J'rect's Incubus bodyguards, a ferocious killer and a merciless warrior. He had slain twice as many enemies as J'rect but unlike the Archon his breathing was regular, his heartbeat untroubled and he did not seem stirred by the death and destruction all around them.

The pair watched the fall of the stronghold as Athra sheathed his sword and stripped off his gloves, leaving them oozing on the deck for slaves to collect as he declared, "The lamentation of the weak may be pleasurable but there is nothing like the thrill of defeating someone stronger than you. This deed sends a message to all of Commorragh, the Kabal of the Impaled Heart is now a power to be reckoned with."

Dramaq commented, "The attack went perfectly, we outmanoeuvred the Kabal of the Sundered Lance at every turn. Their warriors will become your slaves and their cattle are yours for the taking."

Athra stated, "Oh its so much more than that, the fall of so ancient a Kabal leaves a power vacuum, one the Impaled Heart shall rise to fill. Why soon Asdrubael Vect himself will know our names."

Dramaq stated, "I suspect he already does, nothing happens in Commorragh that Vect does not know about."

Athra gazed down at the destruction he had unleashed with pride and said, "Tell me, what happened to Fhaeza?"

Dramaq said frankly, "It seems your sister-wife suffered a most unfortunate accident, a poisoned blade nicked her flesh in the fighting. Obviously some enemy was too swift for her."

"Obviously," said Athra with a knowing inflexion to his tone, he didn't even try to suppress his grin as he said, "Still it is no great loss, she was blatantly plotting against me and her death sends a message to all the other would be usurpers."

Their conversation was interrupted as hunched creature approached them, it was a three-armed being with vials sticking out of its back and it was making the sixth gesture of greeting, used to proclaim a triumphant conqueror. Athra saw the salute and replied with the fourth stance of acknowledgement, used for honoured allies, before saying, "Hail Vl'hyas, I trust your own expedition was fruitful."

The Haemonculi nodded eagerly and said, "Oh yes, the caverns beneath the stronghold were filled with the most interesting experiments and some genuinely delightful tortures. I have gathered them up for my own collection; I will soon present you with some most titillating amusements."

Athra was pleased to hear that and said, "I look forward to it, but remember your pets are required for battle as well as the pleasures of my court."

"Why can't they do both?" Vl'hyas said with a grin, "Trust me you will be most pleased with the flesh-sculptures I shall create, why I even found a Mon-Keigh Gene-Bulk in the vaults."

Athra was surprised to hear that and said, "A Gene-Bulk, that is interesting, I look forward to seeing what you can do with an Astartes. But enough about that, what of my guest?"

Now Vl'hyas glanced to the prow of the skiff and said, "She waits… most impatiently."

Athra looked ahead, seeing a most unusual figure stood in the prow of the vessel. She was a shining pillar of white amid the black and purple of Commarragh, a beacon of purity in a sea of filth. Her high helm and plumes were unlike anything the Dark Eldar favoured and the graceful sweeps of her armour boldly stood out. Yet it was the shining Soulstone upon her breast that declared her true origin, she was of the Craftworlds, an Eldar of the Paths: her name was T'selia and she was a Farseer.

For a Craftworld Eldar the dark city was a place of terror and depravity, a place of ultimate danger and peril, both to body and soul. Every Commorraghite desired to inflict surpassing agonies upon their hated kin and news of one's presence would spread like wildfire, without a powerful patron to even set foot here would mean a fate worse than death.

Athra J'rect had desired her from the moment he had first learned of her, the pain and torments he could inflict on such delicate flesh had consumed his mind to become an obsession. Yet once he had met her in person he had immediately realised such banal and temporary torments would not do, not when he had seen a blot on her soul that cried out to him. For all her pride, power and foresight there was a darkness within her, one that threatened to spill out and fill her fair spirit. What was physical pain compared to that, what was fleeting agony compared to the possibility to corrupt a pure soul?

Athra plastered a flattering smile on his face and strode to the prow as he made the first gesture of welcome, reserved for close friends, a sign he had never needed to use before. Before the Archon could even speak the Farseer said in a lilting accent that echoed under her helm, "Save me your flattery, we are wasting time here."

Athra was pleased by the impatience and scorn in her voice, signs her self-control was lacking, and he said, "Preparations must be made; the Kabal of the Impaled Heart must rise in power and prestige if we are to change the skein you see laid out before us."

T'selia replied without looking at him, "I did not come here to assist one Kabal over another but to save all Eldar, yet all I have done since I arrived is to use my foresight to lay low your rivals and weed out plotters behind your back."

Athra's smile did not fade as he said, "Essential tasks, necessary steps on the path, without my patronage you could not set foot here. My Kabal must be strong or every citizen of our fair city would be after your head."

T'selia sneered and said, "Do not pretend my presence has not elevated your position, word spreads that you have a Farseer on a leash and all wonder how you accomplished such a feat… and plot your downfall. Were it not for my foresight then your warriors could never have entered the stronghold and the Kabal below our feet would even now be breaking down your door to take me away."

Athra was laughing internally: arrogance, pride and contempt, this Farseer was more like him than she could ever know. The Archon replied, "Now we are strong we can begin to steer the patterns of the future in the correct direction. An important task to be sure, but I have to ask why do you need us? Why can't your own people eliminate one pathetic Gene-Bulk?"

T'selia flinched at the mention of her people, a fact Athra carefully stored away, before she said, "None of the Craftworld fleets were willing to lend their aid."

Athra raised an eyebrow and said with genuine curiosity, "They did not recognise the threat?"

T'selia gripped her Wraithbone staff fiercely as she stared at the twisted horizon and answered, "The other Farseers rebuked my plan; they recognised the threat but refused to do anything about it. They seek to manipulate and influence when they should eliminate and excise, they allow threats to grow unhindered rather than burn them out."

Athra nodded and said, "So why do you need this Mon-Keigh to die?"

T'selia finally turned to look at the Archon as she said, "I thought you would welcome the death of this particular primitive."

Athra cocked his head to one side and said, "Oh I would gouge his eyes out in a heartbeat but that is not what I asked, I questioned why YOU need it to die."

T'selia sighed and said, "Most threads of the skein are fixed to their course but others are in flux, certain inconsequential nodes that intersect with other fate-lines in occluded ways and change the weft of everything. Considered in isolation this Mon-Keigh is utterly irrelevant, but its destiny is to interact with one whose significance is stunning in its magnitude, what happens next is…. Unpredictable."

Athra smiled and commented, "And you want the unstable factor removed from your visions?"

T'selia snarled and a flicker of psychic power flashed up the length of her staff, "I want him obliterated, I want the Mon-Keigh wiped from existence, I want that whole filthy, mongrel race ground into dust and erased from all memory!"

Athra was delighted by the rage he heard bubbling under the surface of her voice and the careless, rash use of her power. Her emotions were broiling behind the thin walls of her self-control, yet the Archon knew he could not risk provoking her until her discipline was overwhelmed by her passion. He needed to build the pressure in her heart; he needed her to become a crumbling dam holding back a tsunami of hatred, then all he required was just the right leverage to shatter her spirit.

Athra drew in a breath and said, "Be patient, the best rewards come to those who wait. Rest assured you have my full might at your back, when the time is right this Mon-Keigh, this 'Toran' will die."


End file.
